


The Brave Men Rode Them

by writing_addict



Series: On Dragons We Rise [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, And they live on an island village-city thing cuz I said so, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is a Dork, Bakugou Katsuki looked at the Night Fury and saw himself, Bakugou can't kill dragons but really wants to, But not as much as usual actually, But they aren't used as much, Dragon Riders, F/M, GET DOWN, Gotta love Night Furies, How to Train Your Dragon AU, Katsuki is in the role of Hiccup(ish), Katsuki rides a Night Fury and it's great, Male-Female Friendship, Night Fury, Quirks Exist, The dragon riders kick ass, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Two Night Furies (gasp), U.A. is a school for dragon-killers, Uraraka Ochako Knows All, You'll see what I mean, a dragon dork specifically, let this boy ride his dragon in peace, like so much ass, similar events to the movies but not exactly the same, the brave men did not fight dragons, the brave men rode them, this is gonna be so epic hells yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: "In front of him lies the Night Fury, the most dangerous dragon in the known world, one that he's felled, the one that could prove that he does have what it takes to kill dragons.But its eyes are open, shining and white-gold, and he sees himself reflected in them.And he knows that he won't kill it."Bakugou Katsuki has always wanted to kill dragons, a species that has plagued the city for over seven generations. And, after coming out on top in all of U.A. Dragonkiller Academy's training sims, you'd think that it would be easy---except it's not. He can fight dragons, sure, but when it comes to dealing the deathblow...his blood flows backwards in his body, and his Quirk fails him.So yeah--despite potentially being the best dragon-killer ever, he physically can't kill dragons. Deku's killed dragons. Shitty-Hair has killed dragons. Half n' Half, Round Face---all of them have killed dragons. And he hasn't---can't, not unless he's looking at them from afar. But when he shoots down a dragon that no one's ever seen, his faith in his bloodline, world, and aspirations shatter.And something--someone--new rises in their place. And this someone won't kill dragons--but he will ride them.





	1. The Raid

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this au refused to leave my head so here y'all go  
> Things to keep in mind:  
> Modern tech is a thing  
> They live in a pretty isolated island (like Berk)  
> Basically their world is now the Archipelago from Berk but with modern technology  
> Quirks exist, but they aren't used as much
> 
> Okay, have fun kids

“RAID!”

The alarm blares out, ferocious and screeching. Katsuki sits bolt upright in his bed, a thousand curses on his tongue as he dresses swiftly. He shoves his gauntlets onto his hands, shoving open his door as the others sprint out of their dorm rooms. Chaos reigns in the hallways, his fellow dragon-slayers-in-training rushing back and forth as they gather their weapons. Bolas, axes, swords--all of the traditional stuff, along with all of their own Quirks and augmentation weapons, are being passed around as All Might directs the slayers-in-training in and out of the armory. 

“Kacchan!” 

_ Deku _ . Of course it’s fucking Deku, one of a handful of people who can see right the fuck through him. The shitnerd smiles at him, and it’s patronizing as fuck. “Let’s get out there and save some people!” he cheers.

“And kill dragons,” snaps Katsuki despite the revulsion at the words. He’s hated dragons for years, but he’s never killed one--not so much as a Terrible Terror. Shitty-Hair killed a Gronkle, Uraraka tore the wings off of a Deathsong--even fucking Deku took out a Nadder--a  _ goddamn Nadder _ \--with that crazy-ass Quirk of his.

And as for him...he can’t kill dragons. Not that he’ll admit that to himself, but he can’t---not up close and personal, anyway. He’s taken out dozens of dragons, but he can never bring himself to deal the deathblow

And he fucking  _ hates  _ that.

_ You’re killing a dragon tonight,  _ he snarls to himself as he ducks into the armory, which is now nearly empty. The plan was concocted after his last failure. He’d built one of Deku’s bola-throwing contraptions, designed before he showed any sign of  _ not  _ being a Quirkless failure, and the explosive boy plans on using it. So long as he didn’t have to look the dragon in the eye, things would be fine.

Katsuki grabs the bola-thrower and races out into the city after his classmates. It is alight with flames, buildings crumbling as dragons blew up building after building. Most of the buildings are wood and steel, all of them regrettably (and fucking stupidly, he thinks) flammable. Their island is pretty isolated, so they had to use whatever was on hand to rebuild, including warped steel and scorched wood. Importation was rare, though they at least have the tech to provide armor and communication. He wheels the contraption through the streets of screaming people and harried fighters, catching sight of Deku slamming a fucking Monstrous Nightmare into the ground with the class rep  and Half n’ Half. 

He keeps running before he can see its neck get snapped and think more traitorous thoughts .

The ash-blonde scrambles to the edge of a bluff near the city’s edge, quickly loading up the catapult and setting it into position before waiting. It’s a little-known fact that he can, in fact, be patient--especially when waiting for the target that can (and will, Katsuki vows) change his entire life. He won’t settle for less unless he has no other choice.

Falling under the category of “lesser motherfucking bitchass dragons” are Gronkles, Zipplebacks, Nadders, Rumblehorns, Monstrous Nightmares, Typhoomerangs, Thunderdrums, Scauldrons, etc. Still, he knows damn fucking well that they’re nothing to sniff at--Gronkles are heavily armored, as are Rumblehorns. Zipplebacks have two heads for twice the status. Scauldrons spit lethal boiling water, and Thunderdrums basically fucking yell you to death. Nadders and Razorwhips are two of the most dangerous (and he still can’t believe that Deku, of all people, took one down), as are the Monstrous Nightmares (nasty habit of setting themselves on fire; they wreck their steel-and-wood skyscrapers every time) but neither of them compares to---

A high-pitched shrieking noise fills the air, eerie and inhuman--the sound of something flying at top speed.  _ Yes, yes, fuck yes,  _ Katsuki finds himself whispering under his breath, swiveling the bola as everyone, including the dragons, drops and covers their heads. “Night Fury!” someone roars, unnecessarily (probably fucking Endeavor, when he thinks about it). “Get down!”

A fireblast slams into the side of a catapult, toppling it easily. Katsuki straightens a bit, grinning madly as a sleek shape is illuminated for barely a second.  _ Target fucking locked n’ loaded.  _

_ Night Fury.  _ The most dangerous dragon in the known world. No one’s seen it, having only caught glimpses of black scales and an aerodynamic body ready to fuck shit up. There were once two, but one was captured and held within the dragon cells in U.A.; the fuckers who took it down didn’t think to take so much as the fucking picture for future reference, and it blew out all the lights and cameras in its cell---hence the lack of pictures or knowledge. But even though they defeated it, the dragon killers that did it lost eyes, teeth, hands, legs, and nearly died trapping it. Killing one has been deemed an impossible task.

_ And I’m going to the be the first to kill the goddamn bastard,  _ he thought vindictively. “Gimme something to shoot at, fucker,” he breathes aloud. “Come on...come on…”

Blasts echo. Someone shouts at him to leave; it’s a draw, two students from Gen Ed. were killed and their food supply was raided. But he doesn’t move. He can’t.

_ Give me a fucking target.  _

The shrieking noise picks up again and he tenses, peering through the scope as it grows closer...closer...closer…

_ Now! _

As its attack shatters another two catapults, he has a clear shot, no way he can miss. Katsuki pulls the trigger and watches the bola fly at the beast, hurtling through the sky; the world slows down for a moment and he waits for the verdict with bated breath.

A cry cuts through the air, and he can see a shape that blots out the stars fall from the sky like fucking  _ Icarus _ . For some reason, his breath catches in his throat, and he feels sick again.

But he’s done it. He brought down the Night Fury...and tomorrow, he’ll find it and kill it.

_ I  _ can _ kill dragons. _

He refuses to acknowledge the revulsion at the thought, the disgust at the idea of actually killing a fucking dragon, pushes it aside because  _this is what he needs to do_ , no matter what his personal feelings are. He's wanted this for fucking ages, since he was fucking  _five_ __, and now he's taken down the dragon that no one's ever seen.

 _And I_ will  __ _kill dragons._


	2. The Downed Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Catch me if you can."

“FUCKING HELL!” Katsuki roars, slamming his fist against a tree, a frustrated explosion following suit. He knows damn well that he shouldn’t scorch the trees more than necessary, especially not with the dragons burning their home to the ground every other fucking night, but he can’t fucking help it. He’s been everywhere on their damned island, searching for that goddamn fucking Night Fury.

And he _still can’t find it_.

He snaps shut the notebook with his hand-drawn map on it, hurling his pen against a tree as he storms down into the gorge. The last fucking place on his “x”-covered map, and he still hasn’t found the damn thing.

 _Did I imagine it?_ he finds himself wondering. _Did I even hit anything, or was I just fucking drunk on adrenaline?_ “Some people lose fucking mugs and shit,” he grumbles, kicking at a rock. “Not fucking _me_ , though; no, _I_ manage to lose an entire fucking _dragon_. Just my goddamn luck.” He swipes at a branch bad-temperedly, swearing violently as it snaps back and smacks him in the face. “GOD FUCKING DAMN…it….”

His voice trails off as he finally looks up. The trunk of the tree in front of him is completely fucking _snapped_ , bent over and splintered. His gaze falls to the ground again, following a long trench of churned-up earth and rocks. Cautiously (for once in his damn life), he pads down the trench, skidding slightly on the loose stones as hope, fucking fragile and bright and ruining his black mood entirely, pulses in his chest. Katsuki ducks behind a large stone, peering over the top of it warily.

 _Night Fury!_ His instincts immediately scream at him to “get down” and he does, freezing and ducking behind the rock before realizing how utterly fucking stupid that was and glancing over the rock again. Katsuki stares at the beast, eyes widening slightly. It was sleek and narrow, with scales as dark as the night it hid itself in. _It’s down,_ he realizes, pushing past the revulsion in his chest at the sight of the fallen dragon. _I brought down the fucking Night Fury!_

He jumps over the rock, palms heating up as he lands, one hand going to his sword hilt. “This fixes fucking everything,” he breathes, trying to feel any sense of victory at all in this obvious win. No fucking dice--his stomach turns and he fights back the urge to throw up as he places his foot on its shoulder. Upon closer inspection, it has silver markings around its eyes and those weird-ass ear-flaps. “I fucking killed---”

It moves suddenly, a rush of hot air expelled from its nostrils, and he stumbles back. _Not dead...not dead not fucking dead now I have to fucking kill it up close oh shit oh God._ Katsuki moves closer, drawing his sword from its scabbard as he stares it in the eyes, eyes that are the color of champagne with pupils as black as its hide. Fear, something that he fucking despises but has to acknowledge, pulses through him irrationally. _It’s bound. It’s fucking bound and and tied and it can’t hurt you, can’t kill you. It would’ve done that already if it could._

The look in its eyes is terrifyingly human--defiance, fear, and pity flicker through its golden gaze. Katsuki doesn’t feel insulted by the pity in its eyes as he would’ve if he stood in front of a fucking human---he feels fucking _disgusted_ with himself, more so than ever before. _Don’t think about it, just fucking kill it! Cut off its head, stab its heart, shred its wings---just don’t fucking think about that!_

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, dragon,” he seethes, raising his sword. “I-I’m gonna cut out your heart and take it to All Might.” A low rumble escapes its throat and he squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden burn of shame. “I am a hero,” he snarls. “I am a hero!”

He opens one eye, sees white-gold staring back it him. Fear and resignation are in its gaze, as well as the revulsion and shame he feels at the idea of killing this magnificent creature. _Has it ever actually killed anyone?_ Katsuki finds himself wondering, hefting the sword again. _All it’s done is blow up catapults…_

In front of him lies the Night Fury, the most dangerous dragon in the known world, one that he’s felled, the one that could prove that he _does_ have what it takes to kill dragons.

But its eyes are open, white-gold and shining, and he sees himself reflected in them.

And he knows he won’t kill it.

The dragon closes its eye, the silver markings on its face appearing washed out and white, resigned to its fate. Katsuki lowers his blade, unable to tear his eyes from the fallen dragon. The shame rising within him finally explodes free, and he turns and retches, expelling bile onto the ground as he drops his sword. _Fuck it, fuck it all…_

He lifts his head, gazing at the fucking dragon that he can’t---won’t, he realizes, it was a fucking _choice_ and no matter how fucking wrong it was, it feels damn _good_ \--and self-loathing settles in his stomach. “I did this,” he whispers, hands falling limply to his sides. He crouches by the rope-bound dragon, placing his hand against the rope. _I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this shit…_

His palm starts heating up, burning through the rope. Katsuki bites back a growl of annoyance; the rope of the bola is a helluva lot fucking tougher than he thought.

He doesn’t notice the Night Fury tense up as the rope snaps, doesn’t realize what’s happening until it lunges for him and slams him against the very rock he’d hidden behind moments before. All of the air in his lungs leaves him with a whoosh, and he finds himself unable to move or speak, held captive by catlike golden eyes. _It’s fucking magnificent,_ he thinks despite himself, despite the claws at his throat or the threat of fire.

The Night Fury rears back, and he braces himself for death---

And gets a loud, shrieking scolding instead.

Katsuki blinks at it as it backs up a step, huffing at him irritating, silver markings catching the light as it tilts its head at him, flicking its tail.

The challenge in its eyes is undeniable, and he can read it--no, _her;_ the dragon is female and how could he not see this before--like a book before she turns and bounds away into the forest.

_Catch me if you can._


	3. Learning on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-simulation dragon training begins!  
> Quote of the chapter: "You've got Haddock blood, Katsuki. And you were once a Hiccup--a runt. But runts are the ones with the power to change the world."

Katsuki, of course, hadn’t been able to give chase to the little shit that was the unholy offspring of motherfucking lightning and death itself. Now, though, he wishes fervently that he had. Today they’re heading into the goddamn arena to fight--but not kill--captive dragons. And normally this would be fine...except for the fact that he’s completely and lethally distracted by the Night Fury. He’s been drawing in his notebook all night, unable to get the image of those icy golden eyes and catlike movements out of his mind.

Thus, he’s been sitting in his room surrounded by the ruins of fucking sketches, unable to stop thinking about the dragon that spared his goddamn life (only after _he_ spared _her_ , though, he thinks after a moment). When the knock arrives at his door, he immediately stiffens and slams his notebooks shut, throwing the ruined sketches into the trash bin and vowing to blow them the fuck up later.

“Bakugou.” It’s Aizawa’s voice, tired and bored as always. “Your mother sent you something.”

 _The old hag?_ Curious despite himself, he pushes open the door and glances up at his teacher. “What the fuck is it,” he says more than asks, his voice flat. He needs to figure out where the fuck the Night Fury went, how to deal with fighting a dragon knowing what he knows now, and now he’s got something from his mom on top of it? _Today’s shaping up to be shitty as fuck_.

“She wouldn’t say. Books, by the feel of it.” Aizawa tosses him the roughly-wrapped package and he catches it in one hand. Probably books, judging by the weight and size. “Training starts in an hour and a half.”

 _Yeah, yeah, got it; fucking whatever._ He shuts the door with his foot, flopping down onto his bed and tearing the package open. Three notebooks fall out, along with a piece of scribbled-on paper---a letter from the hag herself, by the look of things.

_Dear brat,_

_Word got around about you finally using your head and your hands instead of your Quirk and your muscle. Nice job---you’re finally living up to our bloodline...which I haven’t told you about._

_You see, everyone on this island thinks that the island and city are nameless (dumbasses). They’re not. Thousands of years ago, this island was called Berk, home of the family known as the Haddocks (and a large amount of dragon raids). They were the chiefs of Berk (Viking chiefs), and most of them were the same build--brawny, typical Vikings, hardheaded and stubborn as shit. Except there was someone who wasn’t like them. He was a Hiccup--a runt. And he changed everything before the world forgot dragons. And when the dragons came back, the survivors of their attacks came here with whatever tech they could salvage. There are no metal cities outside of the Archipelago, no aircrafts or trains. Whatever we’ve brought is all we have left, so the world returned to its Viking roots. And we returned to Berk._

_Where am I going with this? Well, it just so happens that my maiden name was---you guessed it--Haddock. And when we came back to Berk, we didn’t just go to relative safety...we went home._

_These journals are Hiccup’s. They’re the keys to changing...well, everything._

_You’ve got Haddock blood, Katsuki. And you were once a Hiccup--a runt._

_But the runts are the ones with the power to change the world._

_-Your mother (the old hag, as you’re no doubt saying)._

The paper slips from his fingers and he stares at it dumbly.

 _I’m...a fucking runt? A Hiccup? How the fuck am I supposed to be the one who changes everything, anyway? I’m supposed to fucking kill dragons--is that what they mean?_ He shakes his head, folding it up and reaching for one of the journals, the only one without a marking on the front. On the first page were words written in some kind of fucking charcoal pencil. Luckily, they were in Norse---an archaic-ass form of the language, but...wait, it was the exact same. _Never fucking mind, then._

 _This is Berk,_ it reads. _It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery._ _  
_ Well, doesn’t that sound fucking familiar. Katsuki rests his fingers against the page, continuing to read. _My village. In a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new._

Again, extremely familiar. _We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitos. We have..._

“Dragons,” Katsuki murmurs, staring at the smudged word. There are fucking dozens, thousands of pages, all covered with the same small, untidy scrawl that’s eerily similar to his own handwriting.

_I’ll have to look at you more later._

_\--_

He pads almost silently into the classroom, taking his seat with uncharacteristic quiet amongst the chatter of his classmates, his own notebook tucked under his shirt as he watches Aizawa make his way to the front of the class. “Today,” his teacher announces, sounding as disinterested as ever, “you’re going to be splitting into groups of six in order to train in the arena. You’ve killed dragons in the heat of the moment, but simulations won’t prepare you for taking the brunt of the raids. So far, you’ve only handled stragglers.” He holds out a bag--probably full of some fucking names or something--and Katsuki narrows his eyes at it. “Now, we train you to fight on the front lines.”

_Except I can’t fucking kill dragons._

He ghosts his fingers over the notebook that holds his latest attempted sketch of the Night Fury. _I wonder...is it even fucking possible for me to get to the Night Fury in the cells? Maybe I can study that bastard…_

“The recruit that comes out on top,” Aizawa goes on, “gets to kill the Night Fury.”

He freezes. _That’s a death sentence. A death sentence and a fucking chance at glory and if we’re descended from Vikings, then we’re fucking insane by definition. Those idiots will fucking jump at it without thinking twice._

Sure enough, everyone, even the stoic assholes like Half n’ Half and birdbrains, start talking amongst themselves eagerly. Katsuki snorts as Deku turns to him, shooting the shitnerd a glare and a snarl as Aizawa divided them up. _  
_ And (of fucking course) he ends up with the bastard himself in his group, along with Half n’ Half, Birdbrain, Shitty-Hair, and Round Face. _Just my fucking luck,_ he thinks, not for the first time, following them down to the arena.

“Yo, Bakugou!” Kirishima nudges him and he blinks. “You zoned out there for a sec, you alright?”

He shakes his head absently. “Fucking peachy.” _Just being a traitor as usual. You know, normal shit._

“We get to kill a Night Fury, too!” the redhead cheers, apparently taking his damn word for it. “How epic will that be? I wonder what it looks like, huh?”

“Black fuckin’ scales, obviously,” he mutters, and the image of his---no, not his, she isn’t his--Night Fury pops up in his mind, her ear-flaps flattened and bright golden eyes shining.

“Well, yeah, but how big must it be? Huge and spiky, probably.”

He snorts at that---that’s the exact fucking _opposite_ of what she looks like. The Night Fury was sleek and medium-sized, with huge batlike wings and a powerful tail with fins on it.

 _Fins._ He frowns. _Were there one or two?_

“Welcome,” Aizawa calls, and he’s shocked out of his reverie, “to Dragon Training.” He follows the others into the ring---it’s old, he realizes, practically _ancient_. “Here’s to hoping you survive.”

“How long has the arena been here?” he mutters to Kirishima, who glances at him in confusion.

“I think the ruins were here when our ancestors arrived, like, four hundred years ago. Why?”

He bares his teeth, inexplicably on edge. “I can’t just be fucking curious?”

“No turning back,” he hears Half-n-Half murmur from the front, and scowls at him bitterly. Ochako chirps something about hoping for some battle scars, and he rolls his eyes.

Ironically, it’s not that long since he wanted the same. Now...well, he doesn’t know what the fuck to think, but unnecessary scarring is just plain fucking  _stupid_. “Yeah, pain,” he scoffs. “Fucking love it.”

Ochako pouts next to him. “Aw, that’s mean!” She grins. “This is the chance of a lifetime, Bakugou. Live a little!”

“Focus a little,” Aizawa reprimands her. “Keep that up and you’ll never get to the top.” Round-Face immediately clams up and the lanky man starts stalking past the huge, stone cage doors, each barred heavily. “Behind these doors are some of the rarer species you will face…the Razorwhip!”

A squawk emanates from the cage, along with a loud rattle. Explosions spark in Katsuki’s palms. “Speed, eight. Armor, sixteen,” Deku murmurs.

“The Stormcutter,” Aizawa continues.

A hiss pulses from the cage. Kirishima’s skin hardens in response. “Plus elven stealth, time two,” the damn nerd goes on.

“The Hideous Zippleback…”

Ochako taps her fingers together eagerly. “Venom seven, stealth twelve,” Deku whispers.

“The greatest prize of all: the Night Fury…”

Everyone goes silent. The dragon doesn’t make a single noise; none of the unearthly roaring he recalls from his encounter with the female. Ice and fire flicker along Todoroki’s body.

“And today’s opponent--the Grapple Grounder!” Aizawa wraps his hand around a lever that Katsuki knows will lift the bolt. Next to him, Kirishima blanches.

“Wait, aren’t you gonna teach us first?”

Aizawa grins. “I believe in learning on the job.” He flips the lever and steps back. The large, snakelike dragon explodes out of the cage with a shrill roar, and they scatter. Katsuki dives out of the way as it roars, clambering around the arena. Ice rushes forward as Todoroki advances, only to get knocked back by its powerful tail. “Today is about survival,” their teacher continues as they run for their lives, the other four trying to get close enough to land blows as Katsuki focuses on evading. “If you get blasted, you’re dead. What d’you need first?”

“A doctor?” Katsuki mutters.

“Greater speed to match its agility?” Izuku guesses.

“A shield!” Ochako, Tokoyami, and Todoroki all call out.

“Shields.” Aizawa points over Katsuki’s shoulder at a rack of circular shields (Viking shields, he thinks, because they’re _Vikings Vikings Vikings_ and his mom’s letter won’t leave his _head_ ). “Go.” Katsuki lunges immediately for a red-and-white shield, snatching it up before whirling towards the dragon again, who’s climbing over the chains at the top. The others have all gotten their shield--nope, Half-n-Half and Deku are both out after accidentally going for the same damn shield. “Your most important piece of equipment is your shield. If you must choose between a sword and a shield, take the shield.”

 _Been there, fucking done that._ “Those shields are good for another thing,” their teacher calls. “Take a guess.”

“Noise?” Ochako suggests.

“Nicely done. Make lots of it to throw off a dragon’s aim.” The other two immediately start slamming weapons against shields. Katsuki hesitates before following suit, the same sense of revulsion simmering in his stomach as he catches sight of the dragon shaking its goddamn head.

“All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does the Grapple Grounder have?”

“Five?” the nerd suggests from the sidelines, and Katsuki is kind of fucking tempted to throw his sword at the idiot.

“No, six!” Kirishima calls out, waving his shield like a bright target. He gets blasted a second later and curses, ducking out of the way along with the others.

“You’re out. Four shots, two of you--” It fires at him and Tokoyami, and he blasts himself out of the way, leaving Birdbrain with a scorched shield and a “death”. “Three shots---” Ochako levitates herself, pushing off of a wall seconds before a blast shatters it. “Two shots, two of you. Basic math says there’s one for each.”

“So fucking helpful,” Katsuki grumbles, eyeing the Grapple Grounder as it rushes them, Ochako dropping into place next to him. Before he can shover her away, though, a blast sends his shield flying out of his hand. Cursing violently, he lunges for it, only to find himself pinned to the wall as the Grapple Grounder advances, fire glowing in its throat---

Capture tape yanks it to the side. “And that’s six,” Aizawa glowers, tugging the dragon into its cage. “Go back to bed, you overgrown worm.” He glances back at Katsuki, and the ash-blonde glares back. _I had it fucking handled and you distracted me!_

“Remember--a dragon will always... _always_...go for the kill.”

The others leave the ring, but he stands still, brow furrowed as he pictures golden eyes and black scales.

_So why didn’t you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different dragons? Yes--like I said, the story isn't exactly the same, so they won't be riding the dragons from the first movie. Try to match up who rides who!  
> Also, we get a Night Fury POV next!


	4. Dragonsoul Humans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A forbidden friendship blooms between She-Who-Strikes-First and the intriguing little human who struck her down.  
> Quote of the chapter: "He gets to his feet, gazing around at her masterpiece with that insatiable curiosity in his eyes--and the little bastard steps on it."

She-Who-Strikes-First is annoyed.

She is very, very annoyed, especially at the small human with fire in his hands (a very dragonish power, his dragon’s soul showing through), who cut off her tailfin so that she could not fly. It was unintentional, she knows, he merely wanted to kill her (death would be better than being unable to fly, she mopes).

But instead he spared her life, and she spared his in return, but now she is trapped in a cove with nowhere to go. She has been here for only a day and is already going mad; the angry human clearly did not understand that she wanted him to follow her and now she is _alone_.

She flicks her tail, rears back so that she is standing on her back legs--and freezes. Humanscent enters her nostrils, but not just any humanscent---dragonsoul human, with fire on his tongue and anger, anger, so much anger. She drops onto all fours and sniffs again and---there he is! _He did understand,_ she realizes, but furrows her brow warily at him. Dragonsoul or no dragonsoul, he’s still a Viking, and Vikings kill dragons and _he cut off her tail_. Part of it, anyway.

She watches his spiky hair weave through the rocks, scarlet eyes that remind her of the Queen (evil Queen bad Queen; the Queen can’t touch her anymore) roving over the cove that is both home and prison to her now. Her gaze halts on the sword at his hip and she freezes, immediately swamped by the instinct to _flyflyflyawaygetawayVikingwithaswordwillcutyouhurtyoukillyou._ She launches herself into the air with a pained shriek, wheeling madly through the sky, unable to get the lift she needs without her tailfin. She slams into the rock, tries to climb it and fails, and drops to the ground with another wordless shriek, this one of disappointment.

She shakes herself off--- _mustgetoutmustgetout_ \--before leaping into the air again, trying to ascend enough to haul herself free of the cove walls. She can hear the sound of that flat, soft stuff that the humans call paper rustling as the angry human flips through a square of the stuff, but ignores it. “No!” she roars in frustration as she slips, falling hard and crashing into several saplings. She rolls to her feet, aching everywhere, and stomps at the ground, raking it with inch-long claws and hissing angrily.

 _Hungry,_ her stomach rumbles after a moment, and she growls in annoyance, shuffling over to the lake. Her ear-flaps prick up as she spots fish, and she plunges her head into the water, snapping at them. She manages to grab a small guppy, more bones than meat, and swallows with a wince.

 _I am a Night Fury! I should be ruling the skies, flying free with the dragons of the world. Instead I am bound by a Queen and then bound by gravity._ She lowers her head, diminished. “I have failed you, He-Who-Hides-In-Shadow,” she whispered, recalling her partner, the dragon who had been captured by Vikings. “You told me to win in your place, to fight like the Alpha of millennia ago, but I could not.”

The sound of something falling makes her look up. The dragonsoul human (He-Who-Blazes-Like-Dragons-Of-Old, she has dubbed him---a bit long, but she is pleased with it) stares back at her, wide red eyes wary. She tenses, but he doesn’t move.

And they simply watch each other for a long, long time---until rain starts to fall and He-Who-Blazes-Like-Dragons-Of-Old must leave.

She-Who-Strikes-First sleeps in the storm that night, and refuses to admit to herself that she is lonely.

\--

She is sunning on a rock when she catches the dragonsoul human’s scent again, and hears the wet slap of a fish against the ground. The fish smells good, too--real fish, not the bony ones in the lake with no nutrients, no good meat and no sustenance. Her nostrils flare and she shifts on her rock, eyes narrowing as the small human ducks beneath a round, wooden shield, muttering something about “showing them what focus is” and “I know what fucking side I’m on” and “who the fuck just takes shit for granted and doesn’t even fucking try for peace”. She can tell from his scent that he has trained to fight against her, and she can smell anger on him--and pain and confusion. He is not supposed to be here, but he is.

She-Who-Strikes-First can see his blade at his hip and dislikes it; it smells of blood and iron, but not of death (not yet). She watches him pick up the fish, still growling words of anger under his breath, and shifts, hot air huffing out of her nostrils.

He hears her and turns, brandishing the fish. His eyes are filled with defiance and curiosity, as insatiable as her own. He-Who-Blazes-Like-Dragons-Of-Old watches as she pads slowly, slowly down to him, slinking like the wildcats of the forest towards him. She tenses, ready to pounce, before freezing as he holds the fish out to her silently--an offering.

She edges towards him, loping sideways and opening her mouth to bite into it when she catches sight of his blade again. “Put that away!” she snarls, wings arcing upwards as she attempts to appear more threatening. Plasma hisses in her throat; she doesn’t want to have to use it, but she will.

Miraculously, he seems to understand her. He reaches for the hilt and she roars in protest, narrowing her eyes. He gives her a glare, mutters, “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this”....and _drops the sword to the ground._

She-Who-Strikes-First blinks, before huffing. “In the lake,” she demands, gesturing towards it. The human gives her an appraising glance before kicking it into the water.

 _Threatgonethreatgonethreatgoneeatfishnow!_ her mind demands. She sits up, pricking her ear-flaps and dropping her wings as a thank-you for his agreeing to lose the weapon. She can’t lose her own, of course, but she can at least make it appear as if she’s less of a threat. He holds the fish out to her again, and she edges closer, eyes flicking up to his and back to the food as her teeth slide into her gums.

“Toothless,” she hears him mutter. “Coulda fuckin’ sworn you had---”

She lunges for the fish, teeth snapping out of her gums, and sinks them into the fish. “Teeth,” she hears him finish, sounding shocked, but she’s too busy reveling in the delicious, meaty flavor of her meal to care. She swallow, letting out a rumble of pleasure, before glancing at him.

 _He’s small,_ she notes. _Strong, but small_ . _Needs food._

It’s a good thing, she muses, that she knows how to share. She slinks towards him, tilting her head as he backs away, small fires sparking in his hands. “Oi, back the fuck off, I don’t have any--” he winces and curses as she presses him against a rock-- “more.”

“You need food,” she tells him pointedly, pacing closer until her muzzle is an inch from his face. “Hatchlings need to eat.” She pokes at him with a claw. “You are a hatchling.” He gives her a wary look, but before he can respond (not like he can possibly understand her, anyway), She-Who-Strikes-First is quickly pulling up half of her meal for him. She deposits it into his lap, and he fixes her with an irritated look.

“And what the fuck do I do with this?”

She snorts. _Dragonsoul doesn’t understand,_ she thinks, amused, because dragonsoul humans can always understand their dragon’s intentions, which proves that he’s not _her_ human, thank the night. She sits back on her hind legs, watching patiently. From what she can tell, He-Who-Blazes-Like-Dragons-Of-Old is clever and curious. He should figure it out quickly.

When he stares at her for a moment longer, she huffs impatiently and looks from the fish to his scarlet eyes. Those same eyes widen, and he groans. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growls, but raises the fish to his mouth anyway.

She croons a bit in response as he takes a bite, glaring at her all the way. “Good,” she says delightedly, realizing with a mix of traitorous hope and wariness that he _did_ understand and that she might be his dragon after all. She swallows to drive her point home, and he looks at her in askance before doing the same, shuddering and making a noise of disgust.

She lets out a little rumbling noise as she watches him, tongue flicking out of her mouth. He snorted in response, though something weird was happening to his face, something she hadn’t seen before. _That’s a…humans call that a smile, right? Can he do that? Can_ I _do that?_

She tries to imitate it, teeth retracting as she struggles to pull the sides of her mouth up. It’s not as hard as she first thought, actually, and she manages to give ~~her human~~ the human a gummy approximation of a smile. His eyes widen, and for a moment she can see through the anger to the childlike awe beneath.

It’s endearing, actually.

He gets to his feet and reaches for her hesitantly, calloused fingers ready to touch her scales--but she herself is not ready. Her smile vanishes and she snarls warningly, whisking herself into the air and managing to glide over to the opposite side of the lake. She lands clumsily, cursing as she does, before heating up a patch of grass and curling up on it, closing her eyes. The human will probably leave, she assures herself, and she won’t have to worry about dealing with him ever again, or about those weird, protective feelings that welled up in her when she saw that stupid, stupid, genuinely happy smile.

The chirping of a bird makes She-Who-Strikes-First look up. It hops on the edge of its nest before taking off, flitting through the air. She follows its movements, watching it forlornly. _Rub it in, why don’t you._

As her gaze shifts, she finds herself looking into a pair of red eyes. She lowers her ear-flaps at the stubborn human, ignoring her feeling of _hecamebackhecamebackstillherenotalone_ and huffs dismissively, dropping her head onto the warm earth and shifting so that her wings and tail blocked her view of him.

She can sense him inching closer, feel the heat of his palms reaching for her tail. She lifts it, fixing him in a deadpan stare, and he gets to his feet with a look of annoyance (and embarrassment beneath it) on his face, padding away. She-Who-Strikes-First watches him go before getting up and loping away, decided to hang upside-down from her favored tree.

Time passes swiftly while she dozes, and when she reopens her eyes, the sky is pink. She can hear the sound of scritch-scratching against the ground, and can make out the silhouette of the human boy. His back is to her, making her all the more curious as to what he’s doing, but she’s eager to find out. The Night Fury leaps from the tree, passing over to him and peering over his shoulder. Drawn in the dirt is an image of a Night Fury--of her, specifically, carefully etched into the ground.

He freezes, sensing her presence, but continues drawing, etching the silver markings around her eyes with surprisingly good detail. “The fuck d’you want,” he mutters, drawing in the pupils of her eyes.

She croons at him, flattered by the (very accurate) drawing, before tilting her head as a thought strikes her: _can I do that?_

She decides that she’ll try. She rises onto her hind legs and thumps over to one of the saplings, biting the trunk and uprooting it easily before returning, whisking it over the ground. Sure enough, a large furrow remains in the earth, and she makes a delighted noise, dragging it past the human, who lifts his head and watches her as she swirls it over the ground. She drags it past him again, creating some pretty squiggles and loops before adding a dot. The dragon pulls it around him again, senses him duck as the leaves whisk over his head. She steps back and drops the sapling, proud of her handiwork. “Pretty,” she croons at it, looking at her artwork with the human as the centerpiece.

He gets to his feet, gazing around at her masterpiece with that insatiable curiosity in his eyes--and the little bastard _steps_ on it.

“No!” she snarls, and he lifts his foot quickly. Relieved,she croons at him, only to growl again as he tries to step on her drawing. It happens a third time before he finally steps over the line, turning on the spot to take another step. She watches a genuine smile cross his face as he spins and turns, moving over the lines easily.

And her plan works; he’s barely an inch away from her, his back to her, and she can smell his awe and happiness finally overriding the ever-present anger. Her breath stirs his hair and he stiffens, turning to face her with wide eyes. She rumbles at him, dipping her head slightly, before baring her teeth warningly as he reaches towards her. He withdraws his hand, still gazing at her, before slowly, hesitantly turning his head away and holding out his hand.

And She-Who-Strikes-First presses her head into his hand, which is warm and calloused. She feels him suck in a startled breath and she feels inclined to do the same as a rush of images, thoughts, and memories that aren’t hers enter her mind. They vanish a moment later, but she clings to two things--names. His name, and the one he calls her in his mind.

Katsuki opens his eyes, childlike wonder written all over his face. She blinks at him, unmoving, and he reaches his hands up to cup her lower jaw, pressing his forehead against hers. She croons at him, and he lets out a shaky laugh. “Fuck,” he whispers. “You’ve got me wrapped around your goddamn tail, Striker.”

 _Striker_ , she thinks, tail lashing contentedly, and laps at his face gently. _I like that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Like I said before, the events of this story won't be exactly the same as the movie. Thus, Striker (which is how She-Who-Strikes-First will refer to herself and be referred to throughout the rest of the story) does not immediately break the connection between herself and Katsuki after he first touches her, as Toothless does. Also, I feel like Striker thought she was training Katsuki, which is absolutely hilarious to think about.


	5. To Save a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katsuki learns that his actions might well mean Striker's death, and goes to the only person he can trust for help.  
> And no, it's not Izuku, or any of the recruits.  
> Quote of the Chapter: "Striker arcs upwards, narrowly avoiding the ground, and he whoops victoriously. “It’s fucking working!” he yells into the wind as she soars high above the cliffs, ecstatic."

Most of Katsuki’s waking thoughts were filled with Striker--and guilt, because here he was with a damn Night Fury putting its trust in him (even after he fucking grounded her), and he was training to kill dragons. He’d realized that the tailfin was needed for her to fly and had redrawn it into his notebook; there’s a plan brewing in the back of his mind, but he can’t focus on it now. Right now he has to keep up the facade of a dragon-killer-in-training (and eat dinner, but that’s less important).

The recruits in his group are gathered around a roaring bonfire at the top of an abandoned catapult tower. He picks absently at his food as Deku chatters eagerly, telling a story about an ancestor of his that lost a foot and a hand to a dragon, barely paying attention as he resists the urge to head down to the cove.

“...and with one twist, it took his hand and swallowed it whole. The blacksmith saw the look on its face---he was delicious!”

_ Blacksmith,  _ he thinks, and another piece of his plan clicks into place. He needs to talk to that crazy inventor chick that’s their village’s only blacksmith; she’s up for anything and a little freakin’ insane, so he might actually be able to fucking trust her. The logic is fucked up, but it’s still there.

“It must’ve passed word around, ‘cause it wasn’t a month later until another one of them took his leg!” Izuku finishes eagerly, taking a bite of his chicken. Aizawa dips his head to the nerd in response, acknowledging his ancestor’s sacrifice (one that would’ve been fucking unnecessary, Katsuki grouses, if they would’ve just tried not fucking fighting the dragons).

Tokoyami feeds part of his meal to Dark Shadow, who coos similarly to Striker. “Isn’t it odd to think that if he was still in control of his hand, he could’ve killed the dragon from the inside? Like, by crushing its heart or something.” Katsuki feels the color drain from his face as he pictures Striker lying, dead and defeated, _ heart crushed fire gone and he’s alone alone  _ alone--

“I swear I’m so angry right now,” Kirishima comments, tearing a piece of meat from the bone. “I’ll avenge your ancestor’s hand and your ancestor’s foot. I’ll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight.” He bares his sharp teeth eagerly. “With these.”

And he feels  _ sick sick sicksicksicksick _ , sick with goddamn guilt and sick with fear as he watches people that he might’ve regarded as fucking friends (were they not so fucking irritating) discuss ways of murdering dragons ( _ murder _ , he thinks, and it  _ is  _ murder to him, it’s the fucking same as killing a fucking  _ human _ ). 

“No, you want to go for the wings and tails, right?” fucking Half-n-Half asks, and Aizawa nods.

“If it can’t fly, it can’t get away.” He can feel bile entering his throat and he chokes it down, he fucking  _ has  _ to. “A downed dragon is a dead dragon.”

_ Which means Striker is as good as fucking dead. _

_ Because of me. _

He sets his plate aside and starts running down the tower, ignoring the discussion of who will kill the Night Fury---not Striker, he has to remind himself. The others ignore him, thank gods, and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing outside of the smith’s stall. The forge is lit, and he can just barely make out a head of pink hair hammering at something. He sighs with so much fucking relief, flipping open his notebook and staring at the drawing of the Night Fury. Hesitantly, he rubs out a tailfin...and draws it back in.

And he advances.

Mei looks up at him as he enters, tilting her head to the side. The manic grin on her face is the same as fucking ever, her golden eyes alight. She loves a challenge too much to share what he’s about to tell her, and thank fucking everything for that. If word got out about Striker, he’d be dead---dead or fucking gone, flying off into the damn sunset on her back if his plan works out. “Well, this is unusual. The Great Bakugou Katsuki deigns to visit the genius.”

“I need your fucking help,” he growls without preamble.

“And the day keeps getting more interesting,” she remarks, shoving her goggles up onto her forehead. “And what might that be?”

In answer, he tosses his sketchbook onto her desk. She leaves the anvil and sets down her hammer, peering down at the drawing of Striker before staring at him, eyes wide. “Is this what I think it is?”

Katsuki scowls. “Can you build h--it a fuckin’ prosthesis or not?”

“And why would I help a dragon?” Her golden eyes are calculating, and fucking unnerving at that. “Why would  _ you  _ help a dragon?”

In response, he tosses her Hiccup’s first journal. “They aren’t what we think they are,” he mutters. “And are you saying you can’t do it?”

“When have I ever said that?” She leans forward, pushes Hiccup’s journal back at him. “I’ll take your word for it. And you’re going to help me with that.” She smiles brightly as she gestures at the fin. “Unless you want All Might to discover this little journal.”

The manipulation is, of course, utterly unnecessary; he already knows that he’s betraying his beloved mentor (the fucking Chief, now that he thinks about it), but he’s damn willing to do so if it means Striker lives to fly another day. “Where do I fucking start?” 

\---

It takes half the night, but he and Mei finish a prototype fin. She wants to come with him, to see the dragon worth betraying fucking everything for, but Katsuki refuses to risk it. He lugs a basket filled with fish to the cove along with the tail, clambering into his sanctuary. Striker bounds up to him immediately, sniffing at him eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, here’s fucking breakfast, you overgrown lizard-bitch,” he grumbles to the black dragon, who gives him a trademark gummy smile that’s too fucking adorable to be legal. He drops the bag, letting fish spill out, and grimaces. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Striker approaches the fish eagerly, pupils blown wide as she paws at them. “There’s salmon in there,” he comments, and she quickly swallows one. “Some pretty fucking tasty Icelandic cod…” She swallows that too, licking her gums with her wide, flat tongue. “And a whole smoked eel.”

Striker shrieks in protest, pupils turning into thin slits as she rears back, scratching wildly at the air. Katsuki quickly holds out his hands, moving closer to her and tucking the eel under his vest. “Hey, hey, calm the hell down. I don’t really like eel either.”  _ Huh...maybe they’re afraid of eels? I’ll test it in the ring.  _ “You just enjoy that shit,” he tells the placated dragon, moving around her side as she tucks in. “I’ll be back here...minding my own fucking business.”

He unwraps the fin, opening it like a fan, before advancing on her tail. She shifts it away twice, fucking tease that she is, but eventual he pounces on it and straddles the damn thing. He straps it into place, tightening it quickly---Mei’s out-fucking-done herself, not that he’ll ever tell her that. “Not bad,” he mutters, ignoring the sound of the wicker basket falling and Striker’s wings unfolding. “Fits; it should fuckin’ work…”

And then he’s yanked into the air as Striker power-flapped up and out of the cove. He screams a few thousand curse words, clinging to her tail. He lets out another howl of protest as she tipped into an uncontrolled dive, hurtling towards the ground.  _ Ohshitohshitohshit!  _ Her other tailfin is flared, but the prosthesis rattles uselessly---and he realizes, mentally hitting himself for his fucking idiocy, that even though she has a new fin, she can’t fucking control the damn thing.

So, following an instinct he doesn’t understand, he yanks it open. Striker arcs upwards, narrowly avoiding the ground, and he whoops victoriously. “It’s fucking working!” he yells into the wind as she soars high above the cliffs, ecstatic. He tilts it, pulling her into a banking turn down towards the lake, going close to the rocks of the cove walls---too close. He lets out an incredibly undignified yelp as Striker flicks him off of her tail, managing to push himself upwards with an explosion only to crash into the water. The cold is shocking, but not as shocking as seeing Striker plunge into the lake after him.

Katsuki swims to the surface and sets off a victorious explosion, letting out a raw-throated cheer. Across from him, Striker shakes off her wings and swims to shore, eyeing him with something like amusement.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit about how ridiculous he looks right now, because he flew on a fucking dragon, who only let him off because they were going to crash into a wall otherwise.

And he’s going to do it again, because if that didn’t set his veins on fucking fire, he wasn’t sure what did.


	6. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katsuki finds that he and Striker have a few more friends on the island than they expected---two, to be exact.  
> Quote of the Chapter: "His mom brightens. 'A female? And it’s a Night Fury?' She tilts her head. 'If the one in the pen is male, then that means those fuckers won’t be on the brink of extinction anymore.'  
> 'Striker’s not mating with any fucking male unless she deems the fucker worthy,' he scoffs, flopping down in a chair across from his two partners-in-crime."

“Today is about teamwork,” he hears Aizawa call from above the mess of green gas swirling through the arena. Katsuki snorts under his breath; after the fucking mess he made of the Razorwhip training, none of those fuckers want to work on a team with him--especially not Ochako, who was fucking livid. Luckily (or fucking unluckily, he’s not sure yet), he’s partnered with the shitnerd, of all people, who for some reason still thinks they’re friends or some shit. “Work together, and you might survive. A wet dragon head can’t light its fire, but Zipplebacks are a little more difficult. One head breathes gas, the other lights it.”

“Razor-sharp serrated teeth that inject venom for predigestion,” Deku breathes, standing back-to-back with him and muttering as-fucking-usual. “Prefers ambush attacks, crushing victims in---”

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up, Deku!”

“A-ah, okay!”

He hears Kirishima’s shout of “there!” and whirls around, teeth bared and wary, only to hear cursing from Ochako and Dark Shadow’s indignant squawking.  _ Looks like it wasn’t fucking “there” after all _ , he thinks vindictively, tensing as a hissing noise fills the air. There are matching yelps and sounds of splashes, and he presumes that two more recruits have just fallen to the Zippleback.

Which leaves him and fucking Deku. Of course.

“Chances of survival are dwindling,” Deku mutters, and for once he’s inclined to agree.

A warbling hiss echoes, and Katsuki stiffens in response. “Watch it,” he growls, tightening his hold on the bucket. Aizawa had been very fucking clear: no Quirks. What with the dwindling numbers of people who actually fuckin’ had the things, they needed to test measures of dragon-fighting without superpowers.

Or they could just try fucking training them, but he knows damn well that that isn’t gonna happen.

One of the heads, this one a dusky purple-gray, snakes out of the smoke, another hiss following. It clacks its jaw eagerly and Katsuki furrows his brow irritably at it. He’s faced down (and ridden the motherfucking tail of) a fucking Night Fury. This little shit, scary as it appears, is probably nothing but a big, destruction-loving softie.

‘Course, he can’t fucking train it with these idiots here either. He watches Deku water the wrong head before getting blasted more of that fucking gas and be declared “out”.

And then he’s left with the fucking Zippleback.

Its other head, this one more blue-ish than grayish, sweeps out of the fog, a hiss rattling its throat (these fuckers sure hiss a lot) as sparks crackle in its mouth. He hears Aizawa shout “Now!”, but he doesn’t move. 

He has an idea.

Katsuki deliberately hurls the water and misses, dropping the bucket confidently to the ground. There’s no one else here and he has the fading gas as a smokescreen--it’s too fucking perfect for words. He opens his vest, revealing the eel, and the very dragon that was advancing on him moment ago halts, recoiling. 

_ Fuck yes!  _ He makes a mental note that eels are an efficient weapon against dragons and decides that he’s going to nail one to his mom’s door to keep their house from burning down  _ again _ . “Yeah, fucker, get back,” he commands, and it steps back with a frightened shriek. “That’s right, back the hell up!” Slowly but surely, he pushes it into its pen again. “Good boy,” he mutters under his breath, and it gives him a surprised look. “Sorry about this shit.” He raises his voice again, pulling out the eel. “Now think about what you’ve done…”

It scrambles to get away from the fish as he tosses it onto the ground, flushed from his victory---who knew that a fucking nonviolent win could feel so damn satisfying?--and shuts the pen. When he turns, he sees every single one of them, slack-jawed and in awe.

And that feels damn good.

“What?” he snaps. “I’ve got places to be, so you fuckers better not hold me up.” He storms past them, but can’t stop himself from grinning.

He’s gonna have a fucking field day with this, he thinks, racing down to the blacksmiths.

“Oi!” he shouts, entering the blacksmith’s stall, glancing around warily for Mei. “You won’t fucking  _ believe  _ what I found out about them today; it’s fucking insane!”

Her head pops out from around the corner, those golden eyes eerily similar to Striker’s. “What is it?”

“ _ Eels! _ ” He gestures wildly with his hands, ignoring the fact that he’s become such a fucking dragon nerd and that he’s a bit of a hypocrite towards Deku now. This is fucking unexplored territory, forgotten long after Hiccup fucking Haddock ended up causing the end of the first dragon war (and then sent the dragons into a motherfucking millennia-long hibernation that eventually caused the freaking apocalypse), and he’s one of the few people bothering to fucking do shit about it. 

It’s pretty goddamn exhilarating.

“Eels?”

“Yeah, they’re afraid of them or some shit! I wonder if they’re poisonous to dragons,” he muses, padding around the corner towards her workbench and--- “Mom?!”

Bakugou Mitsuki snorts, seated across from Mei with a cup of tea in her hands. “About fucking time you realized I was here, brat.”

Katsuki recovers quickly and scowls. “And why the fuck  _ are  _ you here?” He knows that he can probably trust her with the whole dragons-aren’t-fucking-evil; after all, she’s the one who gave him Hiccup’s journals and told him about his bloodline in the fucking first place. But still, she could’ve told him that she’d be coming, and at this point their arguments were a matter of habit more than anything.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that, you little---”

Mei coughs. “Um, Ms. Bakugou, we had questions?”

“We? You fuckers are working together?”

Mitsuki lets out a bark of laughter. “If you trust the girl with your dragon, I’ll trust her.”

“Not that I’ve seen it,” Mei adds, glowering at him.

“Her,” he corrects automatically, glowering back.

His mom brightens. “A female? And it’s a Night Fury?” She tilts her head. “If the one in the pen is male, then that means those fuckers won’t be on the brink of extinction anymore.”

“Striker’s not mating with any fucking male unless she deems the fucker worthy,” he scoffs, flopping down in a chair across from his two partners-in-crime. “So the fuck is this about?”

“You need to control the tail for the dragon to fly, right?” Mei chirps. “So you’ll need a saddle and tack and stuff. I can draw up some schematics, but I need to see it--her--to get them right.”

“And I just wanna see my brat ride a fucking dragon,” Mitsuki continues, “so it all works out.”

And so he ends up leading the two of them down to the cove, wondering all the while how the fuck he got himself into this mess.

\--

Katsuki navigates the path into the cove with practiced ease, not bothering to wait or warn the fucking  _ intruders  _ that it can get a little fucking slippery. There’s a yelp from Mei, and he can hear her skid on the soft earth, but he can’t really be bothered to give a shit now.

That’s mainly because there’s a fucking Night Fury running at him and bowling him over. He laughs despite himself as her claws hit the ground on either side of him, before swearing violently as she fucking proceeds to lick his fucking face with that wide, long tongue. “Fucking hell,” he grunts, managing to convince Striker to get off of him. “I’m fucking happy to see you too, girl, but calm the hell down.”

She just fucking wriggles happily, tail twitching as if waiting for him to chase her or some shit. He hears his mom suck in a breath and turns to see her eyes filled with such fucking awe that it reminds him of himself (and of course it does, everyone fucking comments on how alike they are and now he can actually fucking see it). Mei seems to be stuck somewhere between being in shock and getting that mad fucking glint of genius in her eyes.

Striker’s eyeing them suspiciously, a growl rumbling low in her throat as her pupils slowly contract into slits. Katsuki rests a hand on her head and she glances at him with a look that so fucking clearly says “do you want me to blast them into fucking oblivion?”

He snorts. “They’re friends, girl.”

“Friends?” Mitsuki grins wickedly. “And here I was thinking that you and Mei workin’ together was a matter of fucking necessity.”

“Yeah, well, the bitch fucking grew on me.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Mei grumbles, but she approaches Striker with a grin. “Gods, she’s beautiful.”

For some reason, he feels as fucking proud as if he’d been the one complimented. Striker preens, shifting so that the light strikes her silver markings better. “She’s vain, too,” he remarks, “so she’ll fucking adore you for that.” He gets an indignant swipe for that, but dodges it easily. 

Mitsuki coos at her, padding over to Striker. His Night Fury lets his mom rub at her head, pushing into her hand like a fucking cats. “And she doesn’t take shit from you either. She’s a fuckin’ perfect match for you.”

“How’s the tail working?” Mei asks. “No chafing or anything?” She sidles up to him, eyeing the prosthetic with unmistakable pride.

“She’s not complaining, so I guess the fuck not.” 

“How would you know if she’s complaining?”

He snorts. “She makes these little noises and starts sulking.” The Night Fury fucking  _ thwacks  _ him with her good tailfin and he yelps, swatting her back. “Like that, see? Fucking complaining.”

Mei ignores this, crouching by Striker. “We’re gonna get you into the air,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder. “You and this dragon of yours. No matter what.”


	7. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more he learns about Striker, the more he realizes just how wrong the "heroes" are.  
> Quote of the Chapter: "She lets out a shriek of excitement as she bounds after her prey, and he rests his head on the rock and fucking laughs until his sides ache."

The next few days pass in a blur of planning, learning, and practice. Mei creates about a fucking prototype saddle just a single day after she meets Striker, riding gear included. His dragon, of course, is contrary as fuck, making him chase her around with the damn saddle for a fucking hour (much to his mom’s fucking amusement) before he can wrestle it onto her. Their second flight goes no better than the first; when he pulls to control the tail, Striker flies one way and he goes tumbling into the fucking water, unable to move with her.

Mei and the old hag get a fucking kick outta that as well.

The next thing they try is attaching him to the saddle and his foot to the tail with a cord. If anything, it goes to fucking shit even faster, but they do get out of the fucking cove now.

Katsuki screams curses into the air as they plummet into a field of tall, tall grasses (with a fucking weird-ass smell), the cord snapping as he flies off of Striker’s back and tumbles into the grass. He manages to set off a blast just in fucking time to keep from crashing too badly, landing on his feet. “Striker!” he shouts into the forest of grass, blundering through that shit and setting off several explosions to clear the way. “Where are you, you crazy lizard---oh.” He halts in front of a flattened patch of grass, in which Striker is rolling around and purring like a fucking cat.

He picks up a handful of the stuff, curious---and sure enough, the Stormcutter they face in training  later that day fucking loves the stuff, sniffing it up eagerly and panting like a dog. He rubs its nose fiercely before he releases the grass and it collapses, tongue flickering out of its mouth with a contented rumble.

The others are, as always, fucking dumbstruck. Deku chases after him on the bridge back from fucking training, as do a handle of others from their arena. Even fucking Half n’ Half is eager to learn what he did---no, all of the bastards are, except Ochako. She watches him suspiciously (reaffirming his suspicions that she’s the fucking smartest of the bunch), making a point to lean out of his way when he snaps some shit about an axe in the ring and leaves.

He’s gonna have to watch out for her.

\--

Katsuki’s scratching Striker, having visited her alone that day since Mei is working on the new fucking design. Her scales are smooth and dry under his palms, warm emanating from underneath them, and she’s fucking loving the attention. She leans into him with a rumble as he scratches behind her ruff of ear-flaps, but when he scratches under her chin, her eyes widen and she fucking melts to the ground.

He blinks at her, before grinning. “Unholy offspring of lightning and death, ladies and gentlemen,” Katsuki announces to no one in particular, pulling out his notebook and making a note about her sweet spot. “The motherfucking dragon from hell who has a secret identity as a giant cat.”

In dragon training, he waits patiently as the Razorwhip blasts Ochako and Kirishima aside, dropping his mace as soon as it nears him. Sure enough, the metal-plated dragon halts, sniffing curiously at him. He reaches out to brush its muzzle with his fingers, only to hear a battle cry and see Ochako hurtling at the dragon with a broadsword in hand, made weightless by her Quirk. Katsuki quickly reaches out and scratches the back and sides of its neck before reaching its sweet spot.

One more deadly-as-fuck dragon turns into a purring puddle. He grins victoriously at Round-Face, who lowers her sword with a look of utter shock on her face.  _ Serves you right, running at him with a motherfucking axe,  _ he thinks.

\---

Striker is more like a cat than he fucking thought. Katsuki watches, reflecting light off of one of Mei’s hammers, as his dragon chases after the spot of light like a fucking kitten with a sunbeam. She slams her paw over the spot, and he holds it there until she lifts her fucking paw. She lets out a shriek of excitement as she bounds after her prey, and he rests his head on the rock and fucking laughs until his sides ache. When the light-spot vanishes, she lets out a whine of disappointment and drums her paws on the ground until he continues the game, sending her chasing after the uncatchable foe.

_ Gods, she’s so fucking adorable _ .

In training, he manages to pull the fucking Grapple Grounder off of Todoroki. The Half n’ Half fucker’s Quirk use hadn’t been fast enough to stop the thing, and he was pinned under its claws---until it found new prey in the form of a bit of light reflected off of his shield. The massive dragon winds its way back into the pen, chasing the light eagerly, and he shuts the doors easily.

Todoroki eyes him warily, but he fucking thanks him. Katsuki wants to fucking snap that any of them could do the same shit if they looked at dragons any fucking differently, but he keeps his mouth shut, shrugs it the fuck off, and lopes out of the ring.

Unfortunately, on his way to see Striker with the new saddle, he finds Round-Face practicing with her fucking axe, hurling it at trees as if they’ve personally fucking wronged her. He manages to escape her notice, thank the fucking gods, but he knows full fucking well that he won’t be so lucky again.

Mei is with him, luckily, when his harness gets fucked up after the wind snaps the rope tying them to their practice. “At least you don’t have to go back into Berk to get this untangled,” she comments, and he notes that she’s adapted to calling their shitty island Berk as well. “Especially with All Might, Endeavor and the others coming back from hunting for the Nest.”

_ The Nest.  _ His ancestor wrote about the Nest, prayed that the egg he’d seen of the Queen that ruled there would never hatch. He never marked coordinates, never said a word as to where it had been, but he wished fervently that Hiccup had.

Maybe then they could kill it, and stop those fucking raids once and for all.


	8. Test Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do I even need to explain this one?  
> Quote of the Chapter: "They’re one in every sense of the word---one mind, one heart, one soul---and they navigate the maze with heart-stopping precision."

They’re soaring high above the ocean on their first real flight, the cold winds whipping at his face. Katsuki’s kept warm by Striker’s scales, which emit heat as always, but also by the padded harness.

This isn’t a fucking practice run. This is the real deal, and he wants it to be fucking perfect. He drums his fingers on the position sheet impatiently, but manages to restrain himself. “We’re gonna take this shit nice and easy,” he mutters to Striker, who rumbles. “Alright, position...three. Wait, fuck, it’s four. Position four.” He shifts his left foot accordingly, and the tail flares open. They twist into an beautiful fucking arc of a banking turn, and he leans with her, rising off the saddle as they move together. A feeling of elation, strong as hell and as electrifying as a Skrill, pulses through him like fucking fire in his veins, and he looks back to check the tail as Striker pushes into the wind, dipping downwards. He matches her movements quickly, lining up to face their target: an arch of stone rising out of the fucking ocean, as big as he imagines a fucking Bewilderbeast to be.

“It’s go time,” he whispers under his breath. “It’s fucking go time; let’s do this shit.” Striker roars as they dive; she tilts, one wing slicing through the ocean and sending up spray that fucking chills his face, but does nothing but energize him. “Come on girl, come on!”

They pass through, the maneuver abso-fucking-lutely perfect. He whoops because _holy shit it fucking worked fucking gods yes_ and guides her forward, only to smack into a fucking sea stack. “Fuck,” he swears, and Striker growls at him, pupils flicking upwards. “Alright, my fucking bad.”

Of course, he manages to drive her into another fucking sea stack seconds later. “My fault, my shitty flying--ow, fuck!” She smacks him with her ear-flap and he glares at her, referring quickly to his fucking cheat-sheet, since he’s doing a shitty job of driving without it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Position...four. Shit, three, position three.”

They climb upwards as one, Striker’s huge wings flapping up and down as they ascend higher, higher, until the whole of the fucking island is leagues below them. They punch through the clouds as one and he fucking _howls_ with glee. “Yes! Fuck yeah! Go, baby!”  Striker shrieks with the raw fucking joy of being in the air again, and he laughs, leaning upwards as if he can fucking push them into the sky. “This is fucking amazing! The fucking wind, the island; is this what you see every fucking time?” he demands, and Striker purrs, her golden eyes brighter than he’s seen them in fucking weeks. “We should go flying during the fucking night, no one would see you and it would be fucking---”

And that’s when it all goes to shit.

His position-guide is fucking torn from the saddle by the wind, snatched away. Katsuki lunges for it, swearing violently. “STOP!” he roars, more to the sheet than to anything fucking else. He grabs it, of course he does, he reflexes are fucking amazing...but Striker heeds his command.

He goes weightless. The rings connecting him to Striker unhook...and they both start to plummet. “Fuck!” he roars, frantically trying to spin himself upright with explosions. Striker shrieks again, this time in such fucking panic that his heart fucking _tears._ He manages to pass her, but hits her wing hard and goes flipping into the wind again. “FUCK!” he screams, and this time he’s actually fucking _scared,_ scared for himself and for Striker and holy fucking shit they will _die_. “You’ve gotta fucking...angle yourself--OW!” He punches himself towards her with explosions even after she accidentally hits him with her tail as she spins wildly, roaring as she tries to get to him.

Katsuki manages to reach her, to latch onto her harness and pull himself into the saddle (fucking barely, too). The cheat sheet is clenched between his teeth, weeks of hard work and research inscribed into the damn thing, but right now he’s focused on pulling Striker out of the dive. She pulls open her wings, barely missing the fucking treetops as she tries to slow as much as possible, letting out a warning cry as they plummet towards a fucking maze of seas stacks.

“Fuck!” he screeches, not for the first time, pulling out the sheet and trying to make sense of it. He can’t, and so he tosses it away---it’ll be worthless as shit if they die here.

There’s no time for Katsuki to think, no time to do anything but move. He presses into Striker’s back, and their minds dissolve into one. They react purely on instinct, tail shifting as a foot controls it, their bodies moving and fitting perfectly together. They’re one in every sense of the word---one mind, one heart, one soul---and they navigate the maze with heart-stopping precision.

As they break free of the fog, they “separate” into Katsuki and Striker again. The dragon rider gasps for breath, exhilarated, before throwing his hands up into the air. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” he roars.

Striker unleashes a fire blast, mouth pulled into one of her strange smiles, and Katsuki groans as they fly right into the fire. “Oh, fuck me.”

\--

He blinks, face smeared with soot as he leans against Striker, who’s snacking on a pile of fish. The sunlight is warm on his face, the sand of the deserted beach dry and soft.

And he feels fucking amazing.

Striker retches up half of a fish for him, making a purring noise as she nudges him. He snorts, knocking it away. “I’m fucking fine, thanks.” He watches a flock of Terrible Terrors wheel towards them like fucking seagulls, snapping at each other. Striker lets out a low snarl, scooping her forelegs around her pile of fish protectively. Katsuki snickers as one of the Terrors snatches up the fish head, only to be shot at by one of the others.

A fish, weirdly enough, pops its head free of the pile. He and Striker follow its movements, perplexed, only for Katsuki to howl with laughter as a fucking sneaky-ass Terror is revealed as the culprit. Striker lunges, latching onto the tail, and rips it out of the smaller dragon’s jaws, swallowing it easily. He snorts as she makes a noise almost fucking identical to a laugh, a sort of repeated rumble combined with a hiccup.

The Terror isn’t amused. It paws at the ground like a fucking bull on the charge, opening its mouth to shoot a fireball--and gets a spurt of plasma straight to the mouth. It blinks, woozy, before staggering over towards Katsuki, who decides to take pity on it. “Not so fireproof on the fuckin’ inside, huh?” he huffs, tossing it a fish. It wolfs it down eagerly, before approaching him and curling into his side like a cat.

Katsuki blinks down at it, convinced more than fucking ever that dragons were not killing machines. “All the shit we think we know about you,” he murmurs, petting the Terror, “is wrong.”


	9. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes as planned. Ever.  
> You'd think that Katsuki would've figured that out by now.  
> Quote of the Chapter: “'First of all, not good enough.' She keeps pace with him easily, swinging her axe in her hand easily. 'I wanted to earn that thing. I don’t come from a line of Viking chieftains like you do; I’m not even from a Viking family, and my Quirk isn’t flashy like yours or Deku’s. I need that chance way more than you do, but I needed to earn that.'”

The last battle. Katsuki’s last chance to lose, to avoid having to kill a dragon---a fucking Night Fury, no less--in front of everyone.

The dragon being used for the final practice fight is the Stormcutter, and it’s eyeing him and his opponent with a fuckton of intensity, as if sizing them up. He glares back at the thing, opening his mouth to shout a fucking challenge, when he gets yanked below one of the small-ass wooden barriers. Angry brown eyes meet his, and Ochako bares her fucking teeth at him like  _ he’s  _ the dragon. “Stay out of my way,” she spits, axe at his throat, and he has to beat down the urge to explode the damn thing out of his face. “I’m winning this thing.”

“Be my fucking guest,” he snaps. “I won’t do a goddamn thing.”

She speeds off a second later, and he’s all too fucking acutely aware of the eyes on his back---All Might, Aizawa, all of the classmates that weren’t in his fucking combat group, the hag, Mei---and snarls at them irritably; the pressure isn’t helping at fucking  _ all _ .

And then the fucking Stormcutter spots him and makes a beeline for him almost fucking immediately. Katsuki lets out a growl of frustration as the four-winged dragon advances; now he’s gonna  _ have _ to defeat it and will probably get to kill the fucking Night Fury---or get killed and leave Striker all-fucking-alone. Neither of those are desirable options. 

He scratches it under the chin, hitting its sweet spot and causing it to collapse just as Uraraka’s war cry rings out over the goddamn arena. He glares at her, holding his hand over the fallen Stormcutter’s head warningly.

_ You don’t get to fucking kill this one. Or any of them, if I have my fucking say in it. _

“No!” Her shriek of abject fucking rage is quickly followed by maddened swinging of her axe, the thing’s weight clearly returning as it whistles through the air. “Son of a half-troll, rat eating, murdering munge-bucket!”

_ Those are creative shitty insults if I’ve ever heard them,  _ he thinks dryly, glancing around. “Are we fucking done here? I’m late--”

“For  _ what?!”  _ and oh  _ shit _ there’s an axe at his throat and a homicide-ready look in her eyes. “Late for  _ what, exactly?” _

“Wait,” All Might calls. “Wait a moment.”

And the village elder/healer, Chiyo Shuzenji, hobbles up to the barrier between ring and spectator seating (because dragon killing is also fucking entertainment and  _ how did he not see how fucking psychopathic this way before _ ). Aizawa enters the ring, turning to stand between him and Ochako, who looks every inch a fucking warrior-princess, axe in hand and gaze hardened with rage and fire.

Aizawa holds his hand over Uraraka’s head, and Katsuki finds himself fucking  _ begging  _ the gods to let the Elder choose her.

She doesn’t.

But she does choose him.

Katsuki swears violently under his breath as the crowd erupts into fucking  _ cheers _ . Aizawa tells him “well done” and every single one of the recruits congratulates them--except Ochako, who looks ready to tear him into fucking pieces (and he almost wants to let her, just so he won’t have to fight and kill the same species of dragon he just rode less than a fucking day ago). “Can’t fucking wait,” he mutters, playing the part as best he can. “I am so…”

\---

“Leaving,” he mutters, lugging a basket into the cove and looking around for his dragon---who, of fucking course, is nowhere to be fucking seen. “We’re leaving.” He sets down the basket, glancing around as he fastens his flight harness. “You and me are taking a fucking vacation, girl,” he announces to Striker, who still doesn’t reveal herself. “Forever.”

_ Shhhhhhhhnk. _

Katsuki pauses. “And of course you’re here, Round Face. Can’t fucking mind your own business, as fucking always.”  _I knew I needed to watch the fuck out for her._

Ochako is perched on a floating rock, sharpening her axe without a damn care in the world. She pauses, fucking admiring her shitty handiwork, before tilting her head towards him. “And you can’t keep a damn civil tongue in your head, so we’re even.” She releases her Quirk, and the rock thuds into place. “Or not quite even, since you stole my chance to kill the Night Fury.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to kill the bastard either.” He hauls his basket up again, padding towards the shadows of the small glen of trees, Striker’s favorite place to nap when it’s chilly. “In fact, I’ll be halfway across the fucking ocean by tomorrow, so you’ll get it by default.”

“First of all, not good enough.” She keeps pace with him easily, swinging her axe in her hand easily. “I wanted to earn that thing. I don’t come from a line of Viking chieftains like you do; I’m not even from a Viking family, and my Quirk isn’t flashy like yours or Deku’s. I need that chance way more than you do, but I needed to _earn_ that.”

“And second?”

“Secondly, dragons don’t  _ do  _ what you made them do.” She rounds on him, brandishing her axe, which he regards coolly. “Especially not for a bastard like you.”

“Or maybe they would do it especially for a fucking bastard like me.” He shoves the axe out of the way, scorching the handle with a small explosion. “I’ve got to get the fuck off Berk before sunset anyway, so you get your fucking wish---you kill the Night Fury, ensure the extinction of the most powerful dragons in the fucking  _ world _ , and continue fighting this shitty war with no stopping it. Have fun.”

“I never pegged you for a coward, Bakugou.”

“I never pegged you for a fucking murderer, Uraraka.” He feels the axe cleave downward, but he doesn’t need to dodge it---he doesn’t have to.

Because a fireblast rockets right over his head, knocking the axe out of Uraraka’s fucking hand and reducing it to a shitty pile of charcoal. Striker bounds towards him, all lightning and death and destruction given dragon form, fury radiating off of her every scale. Katsuki grins, looping his arms around her neck and giving her one of those fucking awkward hugs that he reserves for her. “Thanks, girl.”

“ _ Girl?”  _ she yelps, still brandishing a backup knife wildly. Striker lets out a hiss,fire about to spark in her throat and blow the fucking intruder to oblivion. “You---what the hell? Bakugou, that’s  _ the  _ Night Fury and…”

“And there’s no way to get around this shit now,” he mutters. “Round-Face, meet the unholy bastard offspring of motherfucking lightning and death itself. Also known as lizard-bitch, or Striker.”

Ochako stares at them, utter fucking horror written all over her fucking face. She takes a step back, then another---and then she fucking runs off, no doubt to tell everyone about the number one fucking traitor on Berk.

“Da-da-da, we’re dead,” he grumbles. Striker harrumphs and fucking pads off, rolling her eyes as she goes, and he turns to her, betrayed. “Wha--where the fuck are you going?”


	10. Of Clouds and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ochako has wanted to fight dragons since day one.   
> Now she doesn't think she'll be able to kill one again.  
> Quote of the Chapter: " She’s often wondered what it’s like among the clouds, but she never thought that she’d reach them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch Hiccup and Astrid's romantic flight here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zz39j2SKozE

Ochako skids through the forest, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming fear and confusion and holy shit that dragon had a  _ fucking saddle  _ and a  _ name  _ and it ruined her axe and he just hugged it like it was a freaking dog---

Black claws wrap around her shoulders and a scream tears from her throat as she claws wildly at its leg, finding herself grabbing on for dear life. “Oh gods,” she whispers, clinging to the warm black scales and trying not to think about how easy it would be for the Night Fury to drop her. “Oh gods oh gods, oh fucking Odin’s ghost oh  _ gods… _ ”

“You know, you could try just riding on her fucking back and not tell the fucking Chief,” Bakugou’s voice calls from above, dry and deadpan and so unusually fucking calm that it drove her insane. The Night Fury huffs above her and Ochako responds by clinging as tightly as possible to its leg, knowing full well that her Quirk will be useless against a monster that ruled the skies already. “Okay, then, you’re getting on whether you fucking like it or not.” 

She lets out a yelp of shock as it drops her onto a tree, the entire top of it bending over under the dragon’s weight. She latches onto a branch, anger slowly pulsing over her fear as she glares up at the dragon and the hero on its back---the hero that stole her chance to kill a dragon. “And why the hell would I let you tell me anything?”

Bakugou snorts, red eyes piercing and vicious, too much like a dragon’s eyes for him to be purely human. The Night Fury eyes her through disdainful golden eyes, pupils narrowed to slits, and she glares right back despite the fear thumping in her chest. “I’m not gonna say a fucking word.”

“Then how---”

“You are going to get on the fucking dragon, and let her show you.” The dragon croons---fucking croons---at Bakugou, who quickly corrects himself. “Let  _ us  _ show you.”

_ I can’t believe I’m doing this,  _ she thinks, still staring at the Night Fury.  _ I’m a traitor to everything U.A. stands for, to my family, to...to everyone.  _

_ But I’m nowhere near as bad as he is,  _ she reminds herself, pulling herself up the branch.  _ I’ll never ride a dragon by choice, ever.  _ She hesitates, watching  the dragon’s body tense, before pulling herself up behind him. The dragon’s body is warm and lean, power and muscle radiating off of it and creating terrible pressure. Bakugou’s presence doesn’t help either; despite the fact that he’s not swearing violently or visibly enraged, he feels cold. Cold and viciously angry, as if she’s the traitor, not him. 

She doesn’t let herself dwell on it. “Now get me down.”

Bakugou leans forward, resting a hand on the scales of the dragon that could easily snap their spines. “Striker, down. Fucking gently.” 

Ochako freezes as its wings open, legs tucking into its sides as wind fills the huge, sail-like appendages. Bakugou glances back at her. “Not so fucking terrible, right?”

She’s about to hit him and climb off and down the tree when the Night Fury springs off the tree, rocketing into the air like a bolt of lightning. She lets out an involuntary scream, the wind tearing at her skin as they pick up speed. Bakugou is swearing violently at the Night Fury, only to freeze up as she’s forced to grab him to avoid falling to her death. It doesn’t last long before he’s scolding the dragon again. “Striker, the fuck is wrong with you?! Bad dragon, very fucking bad dragon!” He glances at her. “The bitch isn’t usually like this…”

The Night Fury somersaults, plummeting towards the ocean, and she screams again. Bakugou just scowls. “Oh, fuck no.” The dragon speeds over the waves, and Ochako’s about to scream for like the third time when they suddenly end up in shockingly cold seawater. She gasps for air, the chill of the wind all-too apparent when they resurface, before yelping just before the dragon drives them underwater again.

“Striker, what are you doing;  _ we need her to like us,”  _ Bakugou hisses to the dragon as it ascends again, whirling like a corkscrew through the sky. For some reason, he doesn’t seem scared at all, but Ochako most certainly is. The terror is a live thing inside her and she needs to anchor to something, to be able to breathe and relax and  _ stop being so terrified--- _ so she clings to him, burying her face in the back of his shoulder as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“And now the fucking spinning,” the dragon rider notes. “Thank you for nothing, you useless reptile.”

And she can’t take any more of this, she can’t, she can’t, she  _ can’t--- _

“I’m sorry!” she gasps out. “I’m sorry. J-just get me off of this thing!”

And as if by magic, the Night Fury levels out, relenting. She can feel them going up, but their speed has slowed, the air currents created by its wings gentle instead of wildly.

Ochako opens her eyes on a skyscape of golden clouds. She gasps despite herself, a hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widen. Cathedrals, towers, palaces built of something more beautiful than any precious metal ascend around her, glowing softly. She’s often wondered what it’s like among the clouds, but she never thought that she’d reach them. Wonder replaces the tight knot of fear and anger, and she can feel her lips turn up into an awed smile. Hesitantly, she reaches out to touch one, and immediately falls in love with the silky-soft feeling of the clouds, despite the fact that her hand comes away soaked with water. She leans back with a laugh, finally finding the courage to let go of the dragon rider, and trails her hands through the golden clouds.

And then Striker takes them upwards, through the clouds, and emerges into a glittering sky of stars. Tears prick at her eyes from the sheer beauty of it all, and the aurora borealis starts to dance across the sky as if in response, as if to tell her what she already knows---that everything she knew about dragons was wrong. She peers over Bakugou’s shoulder as the island’s torches come into view, showing her the village from a perspective she never thought possible.

“This is Berk,” Bakugou says quietly from in front of her. “It’s ten days north of Hopeless and three degrees south of Freezing to Death. It’s located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village.” He gestures at the island. “In a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests.” He sounds as if he’s quoting someone, Ochako realizes dazedly. “While other places have mice or mosquitoes, we have….”

“Dragons,” Ochako murmurs. She finds herself twining her arms around him again, resting her chin on his shoulder. “And they’re amazing,” she adds, recalling all the times that the dragons have shown strategy or mercy, every time that the dragon marked for killing by the top recruit had tried to escape before going for the “prey”. She glanced down at Striker. “She’s amazing,” she finishes, touching her neck with her palm.

Striker looks up at her and gives a surprisingly sweet, gummy smile.


	11. The Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Striker wants nothing more than to protect her human.

Striker is the happiest she’s been in a long, long time.

She can fly again, and she can fly with the dragonsoul human that is  _ her _ dragonsoul human ( _ mine, mine, mine _ , her heart beats,  _ Katsuki is mine, mine, mine _ ), and her human is happy because he can fly and because one of the few other humans that he respects now trusts him, and this makes her even happier.

The Queen cannot touch her here. The Queen will never have her, never have her Katsuki or the humans he cares about. The sky is open to them, open  _ for _ them, and they are safe in the upper air.

She can tell from Katsuki’s tone as he speaks to the round-faced human with the big, shiny brown eyes that he doesn’t think they’re safe, not forever anyway. And Striker finds herself in agreement, albeit reluctantly.

As long as the Queen is out there, she will never let Striker, her chosen warrior, her  _ strongest _ warrior, go. She will continue to raid and hurt the Vikings that her human cares about and that will hurt him and  _ she will not let him be hurt again. _

So when the Queen’s call, a voice that is high and shrieking and cruel and that the humans are deaf to, echoes across the water, she allows her feral mind to come forward again. The compulsion to serve the Queen is there, but it is weaker, so much weaker that it is merely a dull itch in her wings rather than an electric shock forcing her into service.

Mostly, Striker’s feral side feels only rage, deep and protective and directed at the human that even the untameable part of her trusts, the one that freed her from the hell that was forced service. So she snarls, baring her teeth and shaking off her Katsuki’s worried voice, delving deeper into the fog.

“What’s going on?” she hears the female whisper.

“No fucking clue. Striker, you’ve gotta get us out of here--ow!”

She promises herself that she’ll apologize later, listening with the slightest hint of guilt as her Katsuki and the round-faced female come to realize that the dragons are hauling in their kill, but her wilder side refuses to feel sorry. This is the only way to make sure that she and her human can live in peace, and she’s going to take it.

Her feral instincts and sharp mind both agree: they need to know what they’re up against.

She weaves in and out of the sea-stacks and other dragons expertly, taking in their dull, slit-pupiled eyes and iron fear-scent. She can hardly believe that she once smelled this way, afraid for none but herself. Two years ago, Striker would’ve scoffed at the idea of carrying humans, even one that was her destined dragonsoul partner.

Now, though, she knows that she’ll do anything to keep the two on her back safe, and so her fear-scent is tempered by anger, anger that gains her wary looks and a muttered warning from a Monstrous Nightmare. She bares her teeth at the Nightmare, who wisely shuts up, and continues to glide through the fog, dread spiking in her veins as the eerie volcano “palace” came into view.

_ Don’t let me have made a mistake by bringing them here… _

Striker takes them through a tunnel into the Queen’s chamber, ignoring their screams of shock and fear as the hellish buzz of the Queen’s breath surrounded her. She looks around, flaring her wings as she gazes briefly into the cloud of red smoke, praying that the monstrous creature hidden beneath wouldn’t sense the humans on her back. Rock ledges sprout from the sides of the volcano, home to all species that have fallen prey to the Queen. She can hear sickly coughs through the buzzing noise, frightened whimpers of hatchlings as their mothers try to hide them from the Queen.

Her own mother tried to keep the Queen from realizing she was with egg. They almost escaped, until He-Who-Walks-In-Shadow’s mother seized them and brought them back, hoping to be spared from the traditional sacrifice of the parent Night Furies. Her mother, She-Who-Shone-In-Starlight, died and joined her father, He-Who-Outspeeds-The-Wind, in the night sky. The Queen slew her strongest warriors after their children hatched in order to ensure that she could not be challenged, but everything went to daylight when He-Who-Walks-in-Shadow was captured. 

She was prized. Used. A trophy to be shoved in the faces of the Alphas, the Kings, those who ranked highly in their hierarchy.

And now she is crippled, but stronger, and she is not alone. And her dread is tempered by courage.

Striker lands them as close to the sky as she can manage, crouching just behind a rock as the silent, hollow dragons drop their kills into the pit. “Well, it’s fuckin’ great to know that all of our fucking food has been dropped down a giant hole,” she hears her rider mutter.

“They’re not eating any of it,” the female whispers, sounding puzzled.

_ They won’t be confused for much longer,  _ she thinks, watching a small Gronkle carrying zero prey flutter over the pit. She watches the poor thing retch half of its already too-small meal into the pit, scratching at its ear before moving to fly away.

_ Wait for it…  _

The horrendous roar that echoes send her scrambling back, and the jaws of the Red Queen appear, snatching the small dragon out of the air and swallowing it. Striker retreats, listening to the horrified murmurs of the two humans as she crouches, a warning hiss rumbling in her throat as the Queen sinks back into her pit. Maybe they’ll get out without incident, maybe they’ll be fine. Maybe, just maybe, the Queen won’t see them.

The Queen, of course, reemerges seconds later, one of her six eyes piercing into Striker.  _ “My warrior returns,”  _ she hisses,  _ “with two Viking sacrifices…” _

“Striker, you gotta get us out of here now!”

_ “They’re not for you,”  _ she spits, making sure her words echo across the volcano, before leaping into the air as the Queen’s pupils narrow with rage.

“Now!”

As her jaws snap down on the place they were seconds ago, Striker leaps into the air with a snarl, snapping her wings down as she pierces through the air, fear and adrenaline hammering at her heart as the other dragons all rush to escape. She can hear the screams of a Zippleback, the wails of a Deathsong as her babies are eaten, but forces herself to keep flying.

No matter how many lives must be taken to keep him safe, she’ll protect her human, her Katsuki.

Even if she has to challenge the Queen.


	12. Not A Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes to shit---or, as Striker would say it, to daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned--All Might is very OOC towards the end.

_ There  _ was _ an egg left. _

_ The Queen of the dragons...she’s still alive, still there, still fucking killing. _

_ Hiccup was right; Berk isn’t fucking saved, isn’t fucking safe from the Red Death. _

“It all makes sense!” Ochako gasps as she gets off of Striker’s back, whirling towards Katsuki with a look of fucking bloodlust mixed with some sort of infernal fucking vindication. “They’re the workers, and that’s their queen; they’re like a hive. Come on, we have to go get All Might.” He watches her, numb to the fucking world as she moves to run back to the chief, back the village that kills fucking intelligent, gentle, sentient fucking creatures for their own shitty amusement.

_ To people that would’ve murdered Striker without a second goddamn thought. _

“No.”

She halts. “What, why?”

He watches Striker shake off the water droplets on her scales, pictures blood soaking the beautiful silver markings around her eyes, pictures the light leaving her golden gaze, pictures her wings fucking clipped and her body on the ground,  _ red staining the stones of arena as her sleek frame slumped to the rocky floor-- _

“They’ll kill her.” His voice is rough as shattered glass, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit. “They’ll kill Striker, and I can’t let that happen.”

She whirls to him, eyes wide with incredulous fucking rage--as if she could possibly fucking understand what he’s thinking, what killing Striker (the only real not-made-of-shitty-necessity fucking friend he ’s managed to keep wants) would fucking do to his already majorly fucked-up life. He turns away, but he can’t shut out her voice. “Bakugou, this is the dragon’s  _ nest.  _ The thing we’ve been after since Vikings and heroes returned to Berk! And you want to keep it a  _ secret? _ And for what, to protect your  _ pet dragon?” _

Katsuki rounds on her, teeth bared.  _ “Yes.” _

Ochako looks fuckin’ taken aback, stepping away. He waits for her derisive comments, for shitty pointless arguments and attempts at making him fucking give up the most fucking freedom he’s had in years---

“Okay,” she says softly, and he can feel the tension rush out of him like the passing of a fucking maelstrom. “So what do we do?”

“Give me until tomorrow,” he mutters, glancing at Striker, who croons. “I’ll figure some shit out to end all this.”

She nods, breaking their fucking eye contact---and fucking  _ punches him in the gods-damned shoulder. _

“Ow!” he snarls, and it’s not out of fucking courtesy because  _ gods-fucking-damn she’s strong. _ “The fucking hell was that for?”

“That’s for kidnapping me,” she snaps. Striker ambles over to him, giving him a look that so very clearly says “you asked for that”, and he scowls at her.

The next thing she does, though, is about fifty fucking times for fucking confusing---she  _ kisses his fucking cheek. _

“And that was...um, f-for e-everything else.” She fucking runs off seconds later, leaving him to spontaneously fucking  _ implode _ \---and fucking explode, too.

And Striker, clearly not understanding what fucking plight they’re in, fucking cackles.

\---

The roar of the crowd is nearly fucking deafening. 

Katsuki stands by the gate of the arena, watching the crowd through the entrance to the ring. Everyone from the fucking village is there, cheering as All Might says something that he can barely even hear. His mom and Mei are just barely visible through the barricade, the former worried and the later excited. He can hear his classmates fucking cheering for the death of the dragon, of the  _ Night Fury;  _ fucking Deku’s voice rising above the others for a moment before fading into the general cacophony. 

_ Do or die. Do or fucking die. If I fail, either I die, or they’ll hunt down Striker and fucking kill her. _

_ And I can’t fucking let that happen.  _

“Good luck out there,” Ochako says from behind him, and he glances over at her. He honestly hadn’t expected the fucking encouragement, even after the events of the previous shitty night. “Be careful with that dragon.”

“I’m not fucking worried about the dragon,” he mutters, watching All Might laugh at something one of the others said. Fucking Endeavor and Aizawa trail after him, the devil and….whatever the fuck Aizawa is anyway. Katsuki glances over his shoulder at her, tries not to think about how the fucking light strikes her hair or the worry in her eyes. It’s easier when he thinks of Striker falling from the sky, this time dead instead of fucking crippled. “Uraraka...if something goes wrong, promise me you’ll look after Striker. Make sure the others don’t fucking find her.”

“I will,” she promises, and he realizes with a start that he actually fucking  _ trusts _ her. “Just...promise me it won’t go wrong.”

And he’s actually fucking about to, despite the fact that it so obviously  _ will _ , when the horn rings out, the gate creaking warningly above him.

_ Fucking go time,  _ he thinks, and makes his way into the ring. He’s wearing his fucking hero costume, gauntlets unusually fucking tight around his hands, producing more of his explosive sweat. Katsuki scowls as a collective scream fills the air, the dozens of people chanting his name feeling fucking oppressive rather than motivational. He unhooks a sword from the weapons’ rack and gets an approving nod from All Might as he pulls a shield free.

_ And that’s the last fucking time he ever approves of something I do. _

“I’m ready,” he says, even though he’s nowhere near fucking ready. His entire body tenses as the barricade on the Night Fury’s pen rises.

It’s not even fucking halfway up before a blast shoots out, sending the pen’s doors flying. A black nightmare explodes out, lunging across the fucking ring and pinballing off the sides of the arena, shrieking with the un-fucking-mistakable roar of a Night Fury as it tries frantically to escape. The entire crowd ducks as the dragon howls wildly, climbing over the chains that make up the fucking “ceiling”.

Green eyes lock with his, and dilated pupils contract. The Night Fury lets out a low growl, crawling down towards him. It moves with the same fucking feral grace as Striker, pink scars littering its scales. Its hide, upon closer inspection, aren’t the same pure black as Striker’s; they have a fucking dark green sheen that reminds him a lot of someone---oh, fuck. 

Viridian eyes narrowed as it paced towards him. Katsuki inhales, calming his fucking jumpy-ass nerves before reaching up and unsheathing his sword, tossing it aside before dropping his gauntlets to ground. “Hey,” he says softly to it; its ear-flaps prick up and it blinks at him curiously. “Hey, hey, calm the hell down. It’s okay.”

He glances up, meeting All Might’s perplexed gaze. He knows that he looks angry as fuck, as always, but he prays to the fucking gods that they can see how fucking serious he is about this. 

Slowly, deliberately, he unties his mask, throwing it aside. “I’m not one of them,” Katsuki says, and his voice carries through the arena.

The Night Fury’s pupils dilate thoughtfully, and the threatening hiss turns into a more curious one. 

“Stop the fight,” he hears All Might call, but he ignores it---he fucking has to, he has no fucking choice anymore.

“ _ No _ ,” he growls, but his voice still rings out as if he’d fucking shouted it. “I need you all to see this.” His hand doesn’t shake as the Night Fury advances. “They’re  _ not _ what we think they are.” Its eyes are bright with curiosity as it hovers just a fucking centimeter below his palm. “We don’t have to kill them.”

“The Chief said  _ STOP THE FIGHT!”  _ Endeavor’s voice roars, and a hammer slams into the bars of the cage. Katsuki has barely a moment to think  _ fuck fucking Endeavor he doesn’t even fucking like the Chief _ before the dragon’s pupils narrow into slits, a snarl appearing on its face.

A blast of plasma singes his shoulder, as he dodges, forced to fight for his life because of a man who fucking despises dragons and uses it as a fucking excuse to follow the Chief’s order  _ once _ . Explosions spark in his palms, but he focuses on evading---if he has to fight this thing, it’ll be because he’s out of fucking options, not because his first fucking attempt failed. He can barely make out the sight of fucking Ochako entering the ring and has a second to think  _ no, not you too _ before she’s in the arena, throwing an axe handle at the Night Fury’s head. It fucking hits, and he has an irrational moment of pride-- _ Striker could’ve dodged that shit in her fucking sleep _ \--before he’s off and fucking running again.

He dodges beneath a fireblast and snatches up a fucking shield. The others are just watching him fucking fight, except---

_ “Move, Kacchan!” _

Fuckin  _ Deku _ smashes into the fray, pulling him out of the way of a near-fucking-miss. “Why aren’t you fighting back?” Deku screams, and there are fucking tears in his eyes as he shakes him. “Why didn’t you just kill it?!”

_ “Because I’m not fighting a mindless fucking monster!”  _ he roars, and the shitnerd goes silent. He takes the opportunity to push himself free, running for the exit just as All Might pulls it open, Ochako and Deku already fucking sprinting for it. White-hot plasma sets the gate aflame just before he can reach it, and he falls, fucking pinned under a Night Fury’s claws and  _ this is fucking it--- _

An unearthly shriek fills the air, and the sound of an explosion echoes, filling the arena with smoke. A roar, too familiar to be real, fills the air and the dragon is knocked off of him.

_ Striker. _

The golden-eyed Night Fury shrieks her rage at the other, who snarls back. She wrestles with him, fighting like mad as she rakes knife-sharp claws over its---his---face, teeth snapping as she pummels the already fucking weakened dragon. “Night Fury,” he hears someone whisper, and Striker roars in response, flaring her wings as she slams her opponent’s head into the ground. The male flips her over, but she kicks him off with a snarl, roaring as she backs towards Katsuki.

The way she fights, the unconditional protection and love pouring off of her---they’re everything he’s ever fucking wondered about having from her, everything he’s dreamed of fucking earning, but all he can think is  _ not now. _

She scares off the other Night Fury, and as soon as she does he runs to her, shoving at her wildly. “Striker, you’ve gotta fucking go, get the fuck outta here,  _ go--- _ ”

The others suddenly fucking pour into the arena, dozen of Quirked fucking warriors going against his Night Fury, who fucking throws them off like they’re fucking  _ children _ . She tackles All Might as he lunges for her, the two wrestling over and over and  _ why why why does he have to choose between his idol and his best fucking friend  _ why---

“Striker, stop---”

Striker hisses, and he can picture the explosion that will follow he can fucking see it and it  _ hurts--- _

_ “STOP!”  _ he screams, and she drops her head, glancing at him with a low croon. He can feel tears, fucking  _ tears _ , forming in his eyes as Endeavor immediately slams Striker’s head to the ground, pulling her off of All Might. She doesn’t struggle anymore, but they’re lifting an axe  _ and it’s all his nightmares come to life--- _

_ “Don’t fucking hurt her!”  _ he screams, and the tears in his eyes are fucking streaming down his face. Ochako loops her strong arms around him, keeping him from getting caught in the crossfire, even though he’s fucking itching to lunge into the fight to protect her.  “Fucking stop,  _ please--” _

All Might hesitates, before giving him a too-sharp glare. “Put it with the others,” he calls, and the gleam uncharacteristic rage in his eyes only serves to break Katsuki further.

But it’s the hurt in Striker’s eyes that pierces him the most.

\---

He stumbles into the Great Hall, too fucking consumed by guilt and worry to argue. All Might shuts the door behind the two of them and he turns slowly, practically shaking now.

“All Might--”

“How long?”

His voice is cold, cold and dull and terrifying. Katsuki pulls himself to his full height, not that he’s very fucking imposing at all. “A couple of months,” he manages, the words shaking against his will. “I-I shot her down using one of Deku’s old bola-thrower designs, a-and--”

“So everything in the ring...a trick?” All Might looms over him, and he shrinks back, the utter betrayal in his idol’s eyes cutting him to the core. “A  _ lie?” _

“I know I should’ve told you, but fucking  _ please- _ -” He’s stumbling over his words, and each one only seems to make things worse, but he has to fucking  _ try _ \--- “take this out on me, please, but d-don’t hurt Striker--”

“The  _ dragon?” _ All Might’s fury rises, and Katsuki curls in on himself. “ _ That’s _ what you’re worried about? Not the people you almost killed?”

“S-she was just protecting me! You provoked her---”

“They’ve killed hundreds of us!” the powerful hero roars.

“And we’ve killed fucking thousands of them!” he screams back, desperate to convince him. “They raid us because they  _ have _ to. If they don’t bring enough food back, they’re the ones that’ll be fucking eaten; t-the thing on their island, All Might, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen--”

“Their island?” He steps forward and Katsuki falls back. “So you’ve been to the Nest.”

“Did I say that?” 

“How did you find it?” 

He shakes his head. “I-I didn’t, Striker did; only a dragon can find it---” His eyes widen at the faraway look in his teacher’s eyes. “Oh, no, oh gods no,  _ fuck _ \---this’ll sound insane, because you’re fucking  _ All Might _ , but you can’t win this one, it’s not fucking  _ possible _ , even with your power---”

All Might starts walking towards the doorway, and Katsuki realizes that he’s going to his fucking  _ death  _ and he doesn’t realize it and  _ this is all his fault _ \---

“ _ Please!” _

He turns to look at him, eyes pained. “Bakugou,” he says quietly, and his voice shakes not with rage, but with  _ agony _ , “you’ve thrown your lot in with them. You’re not a hero.”

And the fucking pain in his chest is impossible, ripping him to  _ shreds _ \---

_ “You’re not my student,” _ All Might finishes, voice heavy, and leaves.

Katsuki’s world, one that he built so fucking carefully, balancing heroism with the fact that he rode a dragon and his inability to give either fucking one up, collapses.

He falls to his knees, staring at the shadow cast by Berk’s greatest hero.

_ I have lost everything. _

_ Everything. _


	13. Right and Wrong (And Riding Dragons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yagi Toshinori realizes he screwed up, and Bakugou takes matters into his own hands.

Yagi Toshinori has never felt worse than when he leaves young Bakugou alone and broken in the Great Hall---even the wound and time limit that All For One inflicted on him weighed far less than the image of the broken, scarred boy begging him to keep his dragon safe--a boy he disregarded, tossed aside after promising to teach him like the others. 

A boy  _ he _ broke.

_ I screwed up,  _ he realizes, and immediately wants to turn to apologize. He does, and finds himself staring into livid red eyes. Bakugou Mitsuki’s fury is a physical thing, setting the air around her on fire as she stares him down.

_ “What,”  _ she hisses, “in the  _ hell  _ did you say to my son.”

Toshinori holds her gaze, refusing to drop it, stubborn pride getting in the way as always. “Something I shouldn’t have,” he admits.

“Something you  _ should _ have,” a gruff voice corrects. Endeavor gives him an approving nod, one of very few that he’s ever received from the Flame Hero. “The boy betrayed our entire way of life.”

_ Challenged it, not betrayed it,  _ Yagi finds himself thinking. “Ready the ships,” he orders wearily. “Upon our return, we’ll release the Night Fury back into young Bakugou’s hands.”

Mitsuki relaxes slightly, but Endeavor scowls. Toshinori doesn’t think too much of the latter---he’s always scowling--as he makes his way down to the docks, the other hero in tow, Mitsuki heading for her home, as if knowing that this is something that he and her son have to work out between them.

_ Let this end today. _

\---

Ochako finds Katsuki standing high above the docks, a shadow against a fading sky. The ocean is empty of ships now, but she can tell that he’s been here for hours, his body tense and shivering slightly.

_ Without his dragon or his pride, _ she thinks _ , he looks like a shell. Empty. _ She makes her way over to the platform he stands on. She glances sideways at him and winces; he looks even worse than she thought. His eyes are red-rimmed and empty of emotion, his posture slumped with exhaustion and despair.

It’s not the Bakugou Katsuki she knows, not the one that she’s come to care for, and she finds that she’s honestly  _ worried _ for him. And she knows for a fact that their village won’t be able to handle the monster that rules the Nest without backup---backup that preferably comes riding in on dragonback.

And the only person that could possibly teach their small team of 1-A students to ride dragons was currently in a state of numbness to the world.

“It’s a mess,” she decides to start off with, standing next to him. “You must feel horrible. You’ve lost everything. Your mentor’s trust, your ambition, your best friend…”

Okay, so she’s not the world’s greatest motivational speaker, but it might very well work.

_ “Thank you _ for summing that up,” he says, voice dull.

She pauses, glancing at him. Bakugou crouches, hunching over and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Why couldn’t I have killed that dragon when I found her in the woods?” he whispers, and Ochako stifles a smile, because  _ now they’re getting somewhere.  _ “It would’ve been better for...for everyone.”

“You’re right,” she agrees calmly. “The rest of us would’ve done it.” Well, she would’ve, at least. She’s not certain that Deku would’ve attacked a helpless  _ anything _ , even if it was a dragon. She turns to him, and he averts his eyes. “So why didn’t you?” 

He makes a noise that she can’t identify, like a cross between uncertainty and annoyance. She crouches next to him. “Why didn’t you?” she repeats, her tone far softer than before. 

He shakes his head. “I...just couldn’t.”

“That’s not an answer,” she presses sharply. There’s a want, a  _ need _ to know why he challenged their way of life, their worldview---why he risked everything for a dragon.

“Why the hell is this so important to you all of the sudden?!” Katsuki snaps, baring his teeth and recoiling from her like a wild animal, turning to walk away 

Ochako grabs at his wrist, and he stiffens. “Because I want to remember what you say  _ right now _ . _ ” _

He whirls on her, eyes bloodshot and teeth bared, explosions sparking in his hands. “For the love of---I was a fucking  _ coward. _ I was  _ weak! _ I wouldn’t kill a dragon---”

“You said wouldn’t that time,” she points out quickly, seizing that simple word change as if it were the key to the puzzle. For all she knows, it might be.

“Fucking whatever! I-I wouldn’t!” He yanks his arm free of her grip, scowling fiercely. “Over three hundred gods-damned years and I’m the first Viking---the first hero---in those  _ seven fucking generations _ who wouldn’t kill a dragon.”

Ochako gazes at his back as he turns and walks away, the sound of his boots on the wooden platform loud in the empty silence. “First to ride one, though,” she calls.

Katsuki’s footsteps halt. “So…” she encourages.

He still doesn’t look at her, still keeps his eyes firmly on the ocean, as if looking for something, as if hoping that a black shape will come winging its way to them on the horizon. “I wouldn’t kill her,” Katsuki says, voice uncharacteristically quiet, “because she looked as frightened as I was.” He looks up at her, red eyes soft and vulnerable for the first time since she’s known him. “I looked at her…and I saw myself.”

Ochako stares at him for a moment, because that certainly wasn’t the answer she was expecting---it felt too simple, too impossible. How could a dragon reflect a human, a  _ hero _ , so much that they’d give up a kill that would immortalize them for millennia? 

But it made sense---emotionally, not logically. How could someone kill an intelligent, gentle creature, especially when they saw themselves reflected in the beast?

“I bet she’s really frightened now,” she remarks. “What are you going to do about it?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Probably something really fucking stupid.”

Ochako grins. “Good, but you’ve already done that.”

The light suddenly sparks in his eyes, red flaring to life with a manic light. “Then something crazy,” he breathes, backing up a few paces before breaking into a run.

The brunette watches him go, already mentally listing the other members of Aizawa’s group as she backs up as well. “That’s more like it.”

\---

Toshinori gazes at the fog bank that marks the start of the dragons’ territory, flexing his fingers absently. Aizawa’s glaring at him from the other side of the ship, next to the Night Fury, who hasn’t stopped straining to get back to young Bakugou; the golden eyes of the dragon are giving him quite the impressive glare as well.

“Speak your mind,” he sighs, and the dry-eyed man stalks over to him.

“You’re an idiot,” he says fiercely, and Toshinori bites back another sigh in response. He wants nothing more than to lose his muscle form and bang his head against the mast of the boat--repeatedly--but he dips his head, agreeing. Aizawa, of course, doesn’t care, going on to insult his idiocy and describe it to him in the most colorful, creative way possible.

“I know,” he interrupts wearily when the hero known as Eraserhead pauses for breath. 

“And---” Aizawa glares at him again, and he doesn’t flinch. He deserves it, after all. “You what?”

“I know,” Toshinori repeats, watching the fog hiss and move. “You have no idea how much I regret what I said.”

“But….”

“But nothing. I screwed up, and I screwed up badly.” The Night Fury snarls at that, white-gold eyes blazing, and Toshinori glances at it. There’s genuine anguish in its eyes, as if it hurts to be apart from its other half.

_ I did this.  _ He shakes off the thought. “So,” he goes on, “after we reach the Nest, we’re giving the dragon back to young Bakugou. This victory is for him.” Toshinori pushes away the memory of the normally irritable ash-blond begging him not to go, telling him that this wasn’t something he could fight, and raises his voice. “Into Helheim’s Gate!”

“What’s the plan?” Aizawa asks in an undertone.

“Find the Nest and take it,” he mutters, glancing at the dragon as they enter the heavy fog. Aizawa snorts in derision at the plan, but doesn’t argue, following his gaze as the dragon’s ear plates prick up. “Step aside,” he calls to the helmsman, grabbing the tiller. 

The ship follows his command, and he follows the dragon’s movements.

_ To the Dragons’ Nest. _

After barely a half-hour, a dragon’s head looms out of the fog. The heroes tense as one, only to relax when it was revealed to be the figurehead of a wrecked ship, impaled upon a sea stack. “I was wondering where that went,” he mumbles to himself, before narrowing his eyes as a clicking buzz grew audible. The noise fills the air, growing louder as the ships converge on one spot.

Toshinori’s ship jerks to a halt as they scrape again black sand. A volcano, craggy and black and tinged with a faint red glow, looms out of the gray blanket that covers the world. He hops overboard, the buzzing ceasing as soon as his feet touch the ground.

“We’re here.”

\---

Ochako halts in front of the arena, turning to face their ragtag band of soon-to-be dragon riders (she is  _ totally _ going to claim seniority, since she’s the only other one who’s ever been on a dragon, regardless of whether she was in control or not---but that’s not important), crossing her arms and grinning. Every single member of their study group plus Mei was here, all with varying degrees of excitement and determination on their faces. She couldn’t round up her entire class, of course, but she had enough for each one to ride a dragon---a Nadder had joined the captive dragons after a particularly successful raid, only a few days before the disastrous final exam, so there would be enough for the seven of them. Or eight, if you counted Dark Shadow, but she was relatively sure that it would ride along with Tokoyami.

“Ready to change the world?” she crows at them, and whirls around, marching into the ring without waiting for a response. Still, she can hear a smattering of cheers behind her, and grins widely. 

Sure enough, Bakugou is in the ring, a length of rope around his shoulder as he reaches for the lever to open the Night Fury’s enclosure. He’s in his hero costume again, and Ochako thanks the gods that she had the foresight to make the others wear theirs as well. “If you’re planning on getting eaten,” she calls out, and he whirls around, eyes widening, “I’d definitely go with the Razorwhip.”

He blinks at them before scowling. “What the hell---”

“We came to help!” Izuku says, and for once, his voice is steady. Ochako decides that she’ll let him do the talking and nudges him forward gently.

Bakugou glares.” I don’t need your help,  _ Deku _ . You have no clue what---”

“Then  _ teach us!”  _ Deku steps forward, green eyes blazing. “You told me in the ring that you weren’t fighting a mindless monster. I--we--want to see that. We trust you.”

“But you won’t trust me to do this shit alone?”

“Hey, look, he’s catching on,” Mei comments, and Ochako stifles a laugh. 

Bakugou’s glare softens slightly, and he huffs. “There’s no gods-damned way you’ll leave me alone, is there.”

“Nope!” Kirishima chirps. 

He blinks at them, before shaking his head with a wry, derisive laugh. “Alright, you fucking idiots. Welcome to Dragon Training 2.0.”

Ochako watches them discard their exterior weapons---swords, axes, bolas---and does the same, following Bakugou’s instructions to the letter--something she never thought she’d do. The creak of gears draws her attention, the bar on the Night Fury’s cage rising.

The doors open, and the dragon looms out of the darkness. Bakugou backs up, hand hovering just over its nose as he leads the scarred, deadly dragon out of the gloom and into the daylight. Dark green eyes gleam like a cat’s as he draws it out towards them.

None of them go for their weapons. They’re all mesmerized by the beast---she knows for a fact that she’s just as entranced as they are.

Bakugou leads it towards Izuku. The Night Fury snorts curiously, huffing into the hand that Izuku has stretched out for it. Bakugou grabs his wrist and Deku freezes for a moment, before relaxing as the Night Fury presses against his open palm. “Oh,” Izuku breathes, and Ochako’s suddenly jealous of the shine in his eyes, of the sudden bond between dragon and human that has formed right before her eyes. “H-hello.”

The dragon croons at him, withdrawing. Deku’s freckled face falls, only to light up as the dragon tackles him suddenly, licking his face. Bakugou laughs--a real laugh, one of genuine amusement. “Be careful,” he warns his rival---his former victim---his friend? “That shit doesn’t wash out.”

“It d-doesn’t?” Ochako laughs as well as Izuku gently pushes the dragon aside. “Aw, come on…”

There’s another creak as Bakugou opens the next cage, the Stormcutter prowling out. The four-winged, owl-like has silvery scales--silver tinged with scarlet, like red chrome. Its eyes gleam as it rotates its head slightly, blinking at Bakugou. “Go on,” he mutters to it. “Choose.”

“So the Night Fury doesn’t get a choice?” Tokoyami inquires, tone more amused than accusatory.

“His name is Viridi!” Deku pipes up, leaning against the dark green, scarred dragon.

“Good job, naming him---that’s actually a pretty damn important step in the bonding process.” Bakugou halts, before glaring at Izuku. “Did you seriously name that thing fucking Green?”

“In Latin!” Deku defends, and Bakugou huffs in annoyance.

“And to answer your stupid-ass question, Birdbrain, look at that dragon and tell me he’s not meant for shitty Deku.”

Kirishima snickers next to her. “He kinda does look  _ exactly _ like Midoriya.”

“Shh!” Mei hisses, because the Stormcutter’s moving, slinking across the arena. The four-winged dragon sniffs at each of them in turn, and Ochako holds her breath when it nears her, hoping (even though she  _ knows _ in her heart it’s not her dragon) that it might chose her.

It doesn’t, thought it does give her a friendly nudge. Instead, it moves on to the person next to her--Todoroki. It sniffs at him, and he watches it with absolutely zero fear in his eyes. He holds his hand out--the left one--and it presses its nose into his palm. A rare smile breaks out across the normally stoic boy’s face, and he reaches up and scratches its neck. “Hi,” he murmurs to it, and it croons. “I guess you’re mine, huh?”

“Name the thing,” Bakugou calls, and Ochako grins at the glare that both dragon and human send the ash-blond. Bakugou continues opening the next cage, unperturbed by the glare, and a Zippleback pads out.

One by one, they each find their dragons. Tokoyami and Dark Shadow are both adored by their Zippleback, who they name Dusk and Day respectively (ironically enough, Day is Dark Shadow’s head). Deku’s Viridi is already protective of his rider, sweeping him under the folds of its wings and giving a gummy smile that reminds her, with a twinge of pain, Striker (Bakugou, however, looks as if someone’s physically ripped his heart out of his chest). Cyrophoenix, nicknamed Cyro, traps Todoroki in a cocoon of wings, only releasing her rider when he wriggles free of her “embrace”. Mei’s Nadder, Swiftspike, trots elegantly in circles around the pink-haired blacksmith as her rider raves about the things she could do with the dragon’s spikes and fire. Kirishima’s wrestling with his Grapple Grounder, the sinuous beast (aka Catalyst---”Red Riot and Catalyst!” the redhead had cheered. “It’s perfect!”) every bit as energetic as his rider. 

She’s the only one that’s left, so it’s the Razorwhip or nothing. If it doesn’t choose her, then she has to ride with someone else; they don’t have time to wrangle one in another, newer arena. 

Ochako waits, watches---and gasps as the copper dragon (she had zero clue that they could be copper; but the Book of Dragons said reflective scales and maybe all metals qualified; she’d never really paid attention to it while training to kill dragons, so that was probably why she was only noticing the color now) slinks out of the cage. It makes a beeline for her, razor-sharp wings flaring as it skids to a halt in front of her. Compared to the aggressively protective Striker and the dignified Swiftspike, this dragon seems almost...puppyish.

“Hello,” she breathes, and it wriggles all over, glancing impatiently at her hand. Ochako hesitates, before beaming at it and raising her hand, turning her head away.

Plated copper scales bump into her palm and she gasps as a sensation akin to a lightning strike rips through her. Suddenly she  _ knows _ things---that the dragon is male, that it was waiting for her, that some dragons have destined riders called dragonsoul humans and she’s one of them.

“Oh,” she whispers, and she can feel tears forming in her eyes at this new, profound bond. “Oh my gods.” She stares into brilliant violet eyes and smiles. “Hi there, Aether.”

_ Aether and Uravity.  _ The Antigravity Hero and the dragon named for the upper air. It seems to fit.

Aether croons, nuzzling her, and she wraps her arms around its neck. The Razorwhip’s body is cool to the touch, but his fire warms her from the inside.

Ochako could’ve stayed like that for years, but all too soon, it ends. Bakugou coughs, loudly, and the other riders turn to look at him.

Bakugou Katsuki grins savagely and holds out the rope. “You’re gonna need something to help you fuckers hold on.”


	14. This Is War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aizawa's combat group are totally badasses, and Katsuki and Striker the most badass of all.  
> Quote of the Chapter (it's back!): “You’re not done yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters! Are you excited? I am EXCITED.

The flight’s cold, and pretty near fucking silent. Katsuki leans over the neck of Uraraka’s Razorwhip, Aether---he has to give her points for the fucking name, it works pretty damn well---and he’s hyperaware of her presence behind him. The others are silent as well, winged shadows soaring over the open sea as they bank towards the swirl of ever-present fog that covers the trail to the damned Nest.

“No fucking going back,” he mutters, baring his teeth at Helheim’s Gate.  _ This is the only gods-damned way to get Striker back, and I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to save her. _

A hand lands on his shoulder and he stiffens. “We’ll get her back,” Ochako tells him, as if he doesn’t fucking know that already (but he appreciates the shitty sentiment, even if he’ll never admit it).

The other riders halt and glance at him as if he’s the fucking leader---and maybe he fucking is, he doesn’t even know anymore. 

“We’re going in,” he growls, and Ochako urges Aether into the fucking fog. Six dragons arc into the fog, six knife-sharp arrows shooting straight for the Nest. The dragons weave in and out of the fucking sea stacks with ease, moving at the speed of lightning.

Katsuki hears the battle before he sees it, hears the trumpeting roar of the fucking monster that’s crawled out of the volcano, and he watches for a moment, the riders following suit. The Red Death has somehow fucking  _ adapted _ to their Quirk use, batting All Might out of the air with a roar of annoyance. The other heroes are already fucking fleeing at the Chief’s orders, with only a few standing to hold the bastard off.

_ Fucking cowards,  _ he thinks vindictively he catches sight of the burning boats. Katsuki nods to the others, and Aether surges forward at Uraraka’s command. A blast of blue fire streaks from the Razorwhip’s mouth as the others fire in unison, their combined blast causing the bastard of a beast to stagger a step and they punch through the flames.

The movement is fucking perfect as they roll in unison, circling the monster as one. “Oi, birdbrain!” he roars to Tokoyami, who’s flying a little too fucking close to the thing’s mouth. “Watch your back!” The Zippleback’s rider spirals out of the way, leaving Shitty Hair within reach of its clublike tail. “Move, Red-Hair-Bastard!”

Kirishima cheers as Catalyst winds out of the way, Izuku whooping as Viridi soars upwards. “Hey, Deku! Break the bastard down!” 

“G-got it! Heavily armored skull, tail made for bashing and crushing, steer clear of both,” he reels off at top fucking speed. “Small eyes, large nostrils, relies on hearing and smell!”

“Half-n-Half, Birdbrain, hang in that thing’s blind spot and make some noise, block it’s fucking sight with your fire and keep it confused!” he commands sharply. “Deku, Mei, Kirishima, find out if that piece of shit has a shot limit. Make it mad.”

“That’s my specialty!” Mei shouts, peeling off from the group along with the other two. 

Katsuki doesn’t waste time being fucking annoyed at the imbeciles, instead leaning forward as Aether arced over the flaming ships, searching for a glimpse of---

“There!”

He crouches on the Razorwhip’s back as the copper dragon halts over a burning vessel--a burning vessel with Striker on it, chained and struggling and growling through her muzzle  _ (they fucking  _ muzzled _ her _ , he thinks, and rage pulses through him like fire). Katsuki jumps from Aether’s back and onto the boat, close enough to touch Striker’s silvery streaks---together together  _ they’re together again---- _ and whirls towards Ochako. “Go help the others!” he roars, and she swoops off, riding the deadly copper beast like she was born for it (she’s nowhere near as good as he and Striker are, though). 

He tears off the muzzle with a snarl of rage, and Striker lets out a warning cry, nudging at him. “Hold on,” he mutters to her, blasting the chains with as big an explosion he can muster without hurting his Night Fury. He can hear the others as their efforts are slowed, shouting warnings and battle cries as they draw its fire. He hears someone crash-land before arcing back into the sky, unsure if it was Deku or Ochako or Mei, but he doesn’t really care. He can’t, not when Striker is so close to fucking death--

The monster’s tail sweeps across the boats, a foot crushing the end of the ship, and a burning mast falls, cutting him off from his dragon. Katsuki swears violently, recoiling as fire licks at his hands. The weight of its foot crashes down again and he’s thrown into icy water along with Striker.

Striker, who is trapped.

Striker, who is weighted down.

Striker, who can’t swim while tied up in chains.

_ Striker, who will fucking die because he couldn’t save a dragon. _

Katsuki swims downwards towards her, ignoring the burning in his lungs or the protesting noises that Striker makes. His explosions can’t work underwater, won’t work underwater, and his strength isn’t enough.

Striker’s golden eyes meet his, resigned to her fate as she begs him to resurface. Katsuki tugs on the chains in a last, fruitless attempt as his vision clouds, the pain in his lungs too fucking much to handle as his body screams for air.

His sight darkens, and his hands inadvertently release the chains as he sinks, weighed down by gauntlets and guilt. The world starts to spin behind his closed eyelids and he can see a mess of brown hair and forest-green eyes.

_ “You’re not done yet.” _

He doesn’t have time to wonder about a strange voice in his head, because a hand grabs the back of his shirt and all of the sudden the air is freezing on his face. Katsuki gasps for breath, coughing up water as he sits up, protected by a rocky overhang. Cloudy vision clears, and he catches sight of a huge shape with blond hair diving beneath the waves.

_ All Might? _

Seconds later, Striker explodes out of the water, roaring a challenge to the world as she drags his idol, his former mentor, free of the icy sea. She lands on the very rock he’s protected by, and a howling scream tears from her throat as she shrieks her hatred and anger at the Queen of the Nest. Striker glances at him moments later, a growl rumbling as she nods towards the Red Death, silver markings nearly indistinguishable from the fog. Her golden eyes gleam with protective anger.

Katsuki fucking smiles for the first time in what feels like centuries, getting to his feet and running to her. “You got it, girl.” 

He mounts her back, their bodies tensing as one as matching grins spread across their faces. All Might grabs his hand and he stiffens, going fucking rigid as he waits for the verdict.

_ Traitor, traitor, traitor-- _

“I’m sorry,” his hero says quietly. “For--for everything.”

Katsuki stares at him in astonishment--All Might, apologizing? To  _ him? _ “That makes two of us,” he finds himself saying in response. Striker snaps her jaw irritably, as if to say that she hasn’t forgiven his idol yet.

“You don’t have to go out there,” he presses, and Katsuki snorts derisively.

“We’re heroes. It’s a fucking occupational hazard.” He moves his hand slightly, but All Might’s grip tightens.

“I’m proud to call you my student.”

The dragon rider hesitates before withdrawing his hand. “Thanks,” he says quietly, the hint of a smile twitching across his face. Striker arches her back, and he moves with her, urging her into the sky. They shoot straight upwards, a night-black streak against endless gray, and he howls with glee.

“He’s up!” someone, probably Ochako, yells; Striker fucking  _ twists _ midair and he lets out a raw-throated yell as they take a moment to revel in the fact that they’re alive, they’re together, and they’re fucking flying again.

And then he sees, out of the damn corner of his eye, fucking Round-Face start to get sucked into the bastard’s mouth. Katsuki shifts and Striker follows suit, human and dragon soaring across the sky at top speed. The eerie, high-pitched noise that precedes one of her fucking plasma attacks builds in the air, and he flattens himself against her body. “Night Fury!” someone roars, their voice hoarse from smoke and fire and who-knows-what-the-fuck-else. “Get down!”

The blast slams into the bastard’s mandible, sending Ochako tumbling through the fucking sky, dragonless, and  _ holy shit Striker go go go--- _

“Did you get her?” he demands after they loop around, and Striker purrs, looking downwards with a mischievous fucking smile on her face. He stiffens, wondering if his dragon dropped her just to fucking spite the girl, but he hears her shitty laugh seconds later and relaxes. They fly low to the ground, Striker releasing Ochako, who flips to her feet. Katsuki thinks he hears her say “go” or some shit, but he can’t be sure--he doesn’t have the fucking time.

Because right now, they have to kill a Queen. 

Striker power-flaps into the sky and he glances down at the Red Death, calculating, planning. “That thing has wings,” he whispers, and an old lesson comes back to him:

_ “It’s the wings and the tails you want to go for, right?” _

A savage grin crosses his face. Like Deku said, the tail is made for crushing, too strong and muscled for their attacks to be effective. But those torn-up, ragged wings…. “Let’s see if it can use them!”

Striker spreads her wings, letting them fall back just enough for her to flip at max speed and swoop downwards. Katsuki readies a blast of his own, the familiar popping sound heating his palms as their attacks go off. Both hit, knocking the bastard to the fucking ground with their combined power. They fly upwards, rising into the smoke and fog, unable to tell the difference between the fucking two anymore. He sits up and looks over his shoulder as two tattered shadows start to rise into the air. “You think that fucking did it?” he mutters to Striker.

Seconds later, the beast heaves itself into the sky, catching up to them with two slow, painful-looking flaps. It roars angrily at them, all six of its fucking eyes filled with rage at the betrayal of its first lieutenant. Katsuki shares a grin with Striker, flattening against her scales again. “Well, the bitch can fly!” They dart in and out of sea stacks as fast as they can manage, the Red Death following along with surprising speed. Whereas they have to dodge, it fucking crushes the towers of stone into pieces, causing them to have to avoid its fucking debris as well.

He and Striker shoot out ahead of it, arcing past the rocky shore as the other riders fucking cheer, their dragons roaring support. All of those bastards seem to have (finally) realized that this is his fight, his battle, and he will not accept their shitty help at this time.

He will, however, gladly take their support. Even if he’ll never tell the shits that.

The Red Death follows, raining stone and dust down onto his village, and his rage builds. The clouds are as dark as Striker’s scales, signalling phase two of his plan to bring down this monster. “Okay, Striker,” he murmurs, shifting slightly as they tilt skyward, “time to disappear!” The two of them shoot for the cloud cover and he grits his teeth as they rise higher, higher, higher. “C’mon, girl!”

They make it---barely. The monster follows close behind, flapping after them and roaring viciously. He hears the hiss of flammable gas in its throat and his eyes widen as another idea hits him, one that will work perfectly as phase three. “Here it comes!” he roars to Striker, who dodges just as its powerful flames torch the clouds. It writhes as it blows fire, spreading the conflagration as far as possible before surging into the clouds after them. Jaws snap down barely a fucking inch from her good tailfin, and he bites back a snarl of hatred as they manage to vanish into the night-black clouds, circling the creature that’s been responsible for every raid, every dragon attack on Berk.

He leans forward as Striker blazes towards its wing, the pre-dive-bomb shrieking that she’s so famous for building up as she shoots at the Red Death’s wings, lighting up the sky for a brief moment. It roars, this time in pain, and he and his Night Fury both snarl as they aim for the Queen’s good wing, adrenaline pulsing through their veins as they move as one. Another blast turns the sky silvery-violet, and another, and another, each one hitting its mark. Katsuki can only imagine how fucking insane this must look to those on the ground, but it doesn’t matter; if they lose, they die. And he’s not letting Striker take the fucking fall for him again.

_ Never again. _

Fire roars forth from the Queen’s mouth and the sky is set ablaze. Katsuki yelps “Watch out!” and curses, fear starting to mix with pure energy as they roll to avoid it and fail; Striker’s prosthetic has been hit and they’ll fall from the sky as soon as it burns out. “Alright, time’s up,” he whispers, hands starting to shake as they move to phase three. “Let’s see if this shit works.” Striker curves into a dive, and they fly straight through one of the holes in the monster’s wings as she shrieks at the Queen. “Come on!” he shouts at the monster. “Is that the best you can do?”

Its jaws open and open down, and they fly through its mouth for a heart-stopping second. They shoot downwards as one, the Queen following with a bugling noise of triumph. The Red Death nearly bites them twice and, suddenly doubting his plan, Katsuki shifts the tail. No luck---the fucking thing has burnt out, meaning phase three is their only option. Striker croaks out a worried noise, and he can see her pupils narrowing with fear. “Stay with me, girl, we’re good, just a little bit longer,” he soothes desperately as they pierce through the clouds.

The Red Death growls and he tenses, opening a gauntlet-bound palm as his other hand reaches for the pin. “Hold, Striker,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.

The gas hiss that precedes a fireblast enters his vision. “NOW!” he screams, and Striker somersaults so that she’s facing its open maw. Katsuki pulls the pin, releasing a long-range blast. Striker unleashes her strongest fireball yet, the two flames combining spectacularly as the Queen is forced to swallow their fire.

_ Not so fireproof on the inside,  _ he thinks dazedly as the tears in its wings grow wider and wider. The wind pushes them in and out of the corner of the beast’s open mouth as the Queen of the dragons falls at last, setting the sky ablaze one last time. 

The Queen’s own fire starts to burn its former master, licking up the body of the beast eagerly as he and Striker try desperately to outfly. He can almost see the end, see that they’re home free and--

_ Heavy tail, made for bashing and crushing. _

“No,” he gasps, but the prosthetic tail won’t work. “No!” Striker twists again as the club-like tail swings towards them, the Queen determined to take them with it in its death throes.

It hits him, sending him flying off of Striker, and Bakugou Katsuki is consumed by fire.


	15. What Lies Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is a tricky thing, but past, present, and future somehow manage to coincide.  
> Quote of the Chapter: "And the name clicks, finally. Toothless was the name of the Night Fury in his ancestor’s notebook.  
> Which means… 'You’re Hiccup.'"

He opens his eyes in a world of color.

Katsuki sits up, eyes widening fractionally as he takes in his surroundings. It looks like his island, his village, but it’s not---it can’t be. Bright colors decorate banners and rooftops, patterned like dragon scales. A glittering building plated in some silvery metal and multicolored glass has been built into the side of a mountain, accompanied by something that looks like a stable, but for something at least several times larger than a horse.

_ For...dragons? There’s no fucking way…  _

He pushes himself to his feet, staggering slightly as his brow furrows. The last thing he remembers is falling, hit by the monster’s tail and plummeting into the flames---

“Striker!” he gasps, whirling around, but that’s when he realizes the other weird thing about this dream-Berk: it’s fucking  _ empty.  _ There are no heroes, no civilians...there’s just this eerie _ silence. _

Katsuki shakes his head, trying to clear it, and makes his way down to the docks. Maybe he can take a ship to the Nest, find out what happened---except he should be fucking  _ dead, _ shouldn’t he?  _ How the ever-living fuck did I get here, then? _

He halts on the edge of the cliffs, staring out over the empty ocean. The sky and the sea are almost the same shade, the two blending together into a cloudless, ship-less expanse of blue-green. Katsuki hesitates, fingers twitching restlessly as he gazes out over what looks to be an endless ocean.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He whirls around, lunging forward and dealing out an explosion immediately. His target dodges, sidestepping easily as a black wing springs up like a shield. Katsuki recoils, tensing as a(n all-too fucking familiar) growl echoes. “Striker?” he demands.

“Not quite,” the voice chuckles, and the wing is pushed aside, revealing a snarling Night Fury and a smiling someone of about twenty. “Down, Toothless.” The dragon whines, looking remarkably like his Striker, and the man rests a reassuring hand on its---his---head. “It’s okay, bud,” he assures the Night Fury. “It’s just his natural reaction. He can’t really hurt us anyway.”

“And why the hell is that?” he growls, baring his teeth. The Night Fury---Toothless, where the fuck has he heard that name before?---snorts and flicks his ear-flaps.

The man gives him a disgustingly easy smile, sitting down with the dragon at his side. “Because we’re dead.”

Katsuki stares at him for a moment, but concedes that it’s the only explanation that makes any fucking sense. Why else would Berk look like it did in his darkest dreams? Why else would there be gods-damned dragon stables, of all things, next to a newly rebuilt U.A.? Why else would no one else be here? “So you’re the messenger come to take me to the damn afterlife? Because newsflash--I’m not going until my goddamn dragon joins me.”

“Oh no, you’re not dead,” the man says amicably. “Not yet, anyway. Toothless and I, though, we’re dead. Have been for years.” The Night Fury croons and he reaches over and scratches the dragon’s chin.

The ash-blond boy frowns, taking a moment to actually  _ look _ at the two fuckers. The man has the smallest of scars just beneath his lip, and a head of messy brown hair, two bits of which are braided. His eyes are a brilliant forest-green, incredibly different from his own hellish-looking red ones, and the lower half of his left leg is missing, replaced with a prosthetic that would’ve made Mei fucking squeal with delight. The dragon is pure black, missing his left fin just like Striker, but his prosthetic is bright red instead of plain brown.

And the name clicks, finally. Toothless was the name of the Night Fury in his ancestor’s notebook.

Which means… “You’re Hiccup.”

The man tilts his head back and smiles. “Yep.”

“The first dragon rider.”

“Right again.”

“And my ancestor.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you spoke to me when I was freaking  _ drowning.” _

“Four out of four. Are you gonna keep going?”

Katsuki scowls slightly. “Why am I here, anyway? What is this place?”

Hiccup shrugs. “It’s the Berk you wish existed. I have to admit, it’s a bit fancier than mine. It’s clear that you’ve got dreams for the future.”

“None that would be allowed to actually fucking happen.”

Hiccup grins wryly. “We’ll see what happens if you go back.”

“ _ If  _ I go back?” he repeats warily. Hiccup nods.

“If. You just fell into the flaming carcass of a dragon, you know. You might not survive...and death might be easier than what comes next,” he admits.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “What the hell  _ does _ come next?”

The brown-haired man shrugged. “A lot of hard stuff,” he says seriously. “Peace doesn’t come easily. Neither does war, and both of them are on the horizon.”

“Do you have to be so fucking cryptic?” he complains, dropping down beside Hiccup, who laughs. The noise isn’t amused so much as it’s sad, but it’s genuine.

“You remind me a lot of myself, you know,” the first dragon rider sighs. “Which might sound weird because I was basically a talking fishbone at your age---still kinda like one in this form---as well as friendless and gawkish and kind of a pariah and you’re...not. Or if you are, you are by choice.”

Katsuki knots his hands in his lap, subdued. “...and?”

Hiccup huffs a laugh. “You’re curious, and you’re never satisfied. You use sarcasm as a defense mechanism and as a form of humor. You don’t think like the others, either---instead of tackling the problem or working around it, you somehow do both.”

“And I made friends with a Night Fury?”

Hiccup grins. “And there’s that.”

Katsuki frowns, untangling his hand and knotting them in the grass. “If…” He shakes his head. “Why should I keep living, if all of that pain is waiting?” He fully intends to, of course, out of sheer fucking stubbornness, but he wants a reason, something to look forward to other than future dragon persecution and the possibility of war.  

His ancestor smiles. “Well, if this soon-to-be reality version of Berk wasn’t enough...” he hums, waving his hand. A misty room forms around them, eerily like the entrance hall in U.A., but different--there’s more light, streaming through panes of colored glass. There are Terrible Terrors and other small dragons flying about, clinging to the rafters.

He snaps his fingers, and Katsuki leans forward as everything starts to move. Sound erupts in his ears, breathless laughter and dragon roars, yelps of annoyance from younger students that come running through, Nadders and Zipplebacks on their heels. A pair of older kids walk out into the sunshine, a Terror curled on the taller one’s shoulder as a Hobblegrunt trails after her, an abnormally small Shockjaw padding behind the shorter boy as they chatter eagerly. “The Dragon Riders are racing today!” the girl whispers as they pass the trio of Hiccup, Katsuki, and Toothless. “The original seven, can you believe it? Who are you betting on?”

“Viridi is totally gonna win,” the boy says confidently. “I’ve put my savings on him and Deku.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s definitely gonna be  _ S---oh my gods that’s him!”  _ the girl squeals, and her dragon’s ruff flares as if to mimic her excitement as the doors open.

Midoriya Izuku, about four years older (and fucking taller than Katsuki is now, goddamnit), lopes through the doorway, Viridi at his heels. The dark green Night Fury preens at the girl’s adoring squeak, and Deku laughs, waving at the pair as he makes his way over. He’s in full hero costume, excluding his mask, and his face is painted with a thousand shades of green and black and red, the designs mimicked on his dragon’s wings. “Looks like we’re famous,” he calls to a tall woman with long brown hair. She turns, and---

“Ochako?” Katsuki squeaks--yes, squeaks, because what the  _ fuck _ she looks different---and good, really good, but that’s not the gods-damned point.

She doesn’t appear to notice him, instead grinning widely at Deku. “Yeah, who would’ve thought?” she laughs. Her mask and helmet are gone as well, and shades of gold and pink decorate her face. She runs a hand over a copper-pink-orange-and-white mass, which opens violet eyes and purrs--Aether, he realizes, Aether coiled up next to her. “I’m a little disappointed that no one’s betting on us, personally.”

“You kidding? Your betting pool is one of the largest out there,” a new voice calls, and Kirishima--and older, stronger Kirishima, face painted red and orange--pads into view. “Catalyst is out there distracting your adoring fans, along with Cryo and Shouto.” Katsuki blinks at that, because  _ first name basis _ , how the fuck did they end up on first name basis?

“And trying to convert some diehard Uravity-and-Aether fans?” Ochako teases.

Kirishima looks offended. “‘Course not! It’s not  _ manly.” _

“I think they need some help out there,” Deku comments, peering through the glass doors with a bright smile. “Shouto seems to be losing ground against the onslaught of fans, and Fumikage and Mei just landed, so…maybe we should send Kaminari or Yaoyorozu to head them off?”

“At least Mr. Hero-Of-Berk has yet to appear,” Kirishima laughs.

A voice, eerily familiar and similar to his own, cuts through the din. “Oi, the the fuck did you say, Shitty Hair?”

Katsuki looks up---and he stiffens, because he’s looking at _ himself.  _

An older Bakugou Katsuki trots down the stairs, Striker- _ \--Striker,  _ she’s alive and well, thank the _ gods _ \---at his side. The younger Katsuki follows his older version’s movements---fluid, almost graceful strides, a feral grace like the one within the dragon beside him portrayed in his every movement---eyes widening as he catches sight of the prosthetic where his left foot should be. Cerulean paint outlines Striker’s silver markings, and silver and blue swirls across her wings and tail, and she wears a new prosthetic with the image of a curled-up Night Fury stitched into it. His own face is painted as well, silver swirling across it in an exact mirror of Striker’s markings. Scars litter his arms and collarbone, but they’re born proudly, as are the few that mark Striker’s ear-flaps. 

In fact, they’re all scarred. Not one of them is unmarked by the trials that he has yet to face, but they’re all smiling widely (even his older self has managed a grin). “About time!” Ochako calls with a laugh. Aether lets out a croaking snicker next to her, uncoiling into a sinuous copper beast.

“Quiet, you, don’t even start,” the older Katsuki scolds, flicking the copper dragon’s horn. “You won’t be laughing when we crush you in Dragon Racing.” Striker roars her approval, flicking her tail.

“Don’t be so sure of your victory,” Deku hums, and where the hell has this confidence come from? “You haven’t won yet.”

The older Katsuki opens his mouth to retort, but the loud sound of a horn cuts him off. Kirishima perks up as cheers start to ring out, floods of people and dragons passing by outside the glass doors, heading for what looks like some kind of open-air stadium. “That’s our cue!” the redhead shouts, breaking into a run. “Race you to the arena!”

“Wha--no fair, you got a head start!”

“Come on, Viridi, let’s go!”

Katsuki watches them leave, amazed, only to freeze as the older Katsuki pauses by the door and looks him in the eye, a wry grin crossing his face. “It gets so good, kid,” his older self tells him. “Just fuckin’ hang in there, and we’ll meet a helluva lot sooner than ya might think.” Striker warbles at him, and he rests a palm on her head.”Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” The ash-blond glances back at him with a sharp smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to win.”

And the scene vanishes, and he’s sitting on the edge of a cliff, staring over the open ocean. “That…just happened.”

Hiccup nods and Toothless rubs against him gently. The resemblance to Striker is…well, striking, and heartbreaking as well. Katsuki scowls. “And...I spoke to myself.”

“Your older self spoke to you,” corrects his ancestor. 

“Is there a damn difference?”

Hiccup tilts his head, before snorting with amusement. “I suppose not. So, are you going back or not?”

Katsuki scoffs, baring his teeth slightly with a snarl. “Of fuckin’ course I am.” He got to his feet, explosions sparking in his palms. He turns to leave, noting that his hands and feet  are swiftly going fucking _ transparent, _ of all things--a sign that he’s finally going back, maybe?  

“This is Berk.”

He glances over his shoulder. Hiccup’s green eyes are as far away as the stars, Toothless’s wings tented over him. “A bit trampled and busted and covered in ice, but it’s home.” He tilts his head back. “It’s  _ our _ home.”

His forearms are turning transparent as well, but he pauses, listening.

“Those who attacked us are relentless and crazy, but those who  _ stop _ them?” There’s a soft laugh. “Oh, even more so.”

_ That’s true,  _ he thinks, and grins sharply. His entire body is shimmering in and out of existence now, but his ancestor’s words echo in his ears.

“You see, we have something they don’t,” Hiccup continues. “They have armies, and they have armadas, but we have---you have _ \---dragons.” _

Katsuki blinks, and the world goes black.

\---

Yagi Toshinori stumbles through the ashes, gasping for breath as blood builds up behind his teeth. He remembers seeing young Bakugou plummet from the sky like Icarus, knocked from his dragon by the tail of the beast, and he remembers seeing Uraraka held back by young Midoriya as she tried to run into the flames. He remembers tears running down the faces of his young students as they curl into each other, their dragons sheltering them and blocking them from the flames whenever they get too close.

And when the flames burnt out, he was first to lunge forward, disappearing into a forest of ashes. “Bakugou!” he shouts, hacking up blood as his muscle form begins to wither away. He turns, coughing as the ash coats in lungs, chips of what feels like glass digging into his flesh. It’s nothing compared to the guilt deep within him. He dreads the sight of the burned and battered body, if it’s even recognizable (he fears that it won’t be, that it’ll be burned and blackened and mangled and utterly destroyed), dreads bringing whatever remains there are back to Mitsuki before setting them out to sea, dreads the powerful Night Fury’s grief.

He sees the beast before his thoughts can darken any further, and stiffens, before breaking into a run, smoke streaming off of his body as his muscle form dissipates. The Night Fury is curled up, wings half-splayed out. Its fake tailfin is twisted and bent, the leather burnt away and the metal ruined. Its saddle is half-destroyed too, frayed and burnt, and Bakugou is nowhere to be seen.

Toshinori drops to his knees, muscle form finally gone as he spits blood onto the ground, grief pounding in his chest like a dull throb as he stares hopelessly at the Night Fury---the Night Fury, who is still breathing--barely.

A sob echoes from behind him, and he doesn’t have to turn to know that tears are streaming down young Midoriya’s face, that Ochako has fallen to her knees as well, that the small group of students that flew dragons out to fight an unbeatable foe are grieving as one.

“Oh, gods,” he breathes, pressing his hands to his knees as he bows his head. “I did this.”

He’s allowed this to happen, and now a child--a hero--is dead.

_ Because of him. _

A weak noise escapes the Night Fury’s throat as it--she--shifts, blinking open bleary white-gold eyes. The black dragon flares her nostrils, gaze reproachful (as if he needs a reminder of how badly he’s failed her rider). He watches at her, unable to speak. Her stare is frigid, as hard as diamond.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, tears pricking in his eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Her eyes soften, and she unfolds her wings, revealing---

“Bakugou!” He stares at the boy for a moment. His face is peaceful in unconsciousness (or...death?), despite his soot-covered body; his left leg is utterly mangled, torn up by claw and teeth marks, and broken in a dozen places. It’s ugly, bruised and blackened and it’ll probably have to be amputated, but he can’t bring himself to care. Toshinori gathers him gently into his arms, pressing his ear to his chest.

_ Ba-bump.  _

_ Ba-bump.  _

_ Ba-bump.  _

_ B-ba-bump. _

His heartbeat stutters for barely a moment, but it picks up again, strong as ever. Toshinori lets out a choked cry, relief sweeping over him as he clutches his student closer. “He’s alive!” he whispers, opening his eyes to gaze at the dragon who saved Bakugou’s life. “You brought him back alive!”

Cheers ring out behind him, and he rests his skeletal hand on the dragon’s neck. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for saving him.”

“Well,” Aizawa observes, and Toshinori resists the urge to jump and attack the near-silent man. The dry-eyed hero glances meaningfully at Bakugou’s ruined left leg before finishing with: “Most of him.”


	16. This is Berk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world he reenters is not the same as the one he left behind.  
> Quote of the Chapter: "Dragon and human, each powerful without the other, but unstoppable when they are as one."

The first thing Katsuki feels upon coming out of unconsciousness is _pain._ Like, serious fucking pain, mostly concentrated in his left leg. It goes away soon enough, though, and he wonders if it was just the ghost of his wounds protesting his return to life.

The second thing he feels is air--no, _breath,_ warm and gentle as it brushes against his face, the scent of it dragonish. _Striker?_ he thinks dazedly, but he’s too tired, too out of it to open his eyes or even _move,_ goddamnit.

Seconds later, the sensation of breath moving across his face is accompanied by little, very insistent growling noises, and he finally raises his eyelids, a blurry black-and-silver shape slowly becoming more and more defined, until he can make out delighted golden eyes and a purring dragon. “Hey,” he whispers hoarsely, and she nudges his cheek with her nose. “Hey, Striker.” A small smile crosses his face as she nudges at him more and more impatiently, reaching up with hands that fucking _shake_ as they move---not with weakness, he’s able to realize for the first time in his life, but because of scars that mean he’s a fucking _survivor,_ that he’s _strong_ \---to cradle her face as she stares to lick his cheek. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ happy to see you too, girl.” She leans over him, resting a paw (and her weight) momentarily on his abdomen; Katsuki swears violently as he jolts forward on reflex, curling in to protect his battered body.

It’s then that he finally recognizes where he is.

“I’m in my fucking dorm,” he realizes, staring in horror at Striker as she leaps about, knocking over fucking _everything_ and making such a _huge_ goddamn racket that someone will clearly find her and kill her. “You’re in my dorm---” and she bounds over to him, sniffing at him eagerly. “Do the others know you’re here?” he demands, before wincing as her tail smacks into a poster, eyes widening as she jumps to one of the exposed rafters. “Gods, Striker, no---ah, come the fuck on…”

And he moves to get out of his bed and... _stops. Why can’t I feel my leg?_ He wonders, moving to lift the blanket. All at once, he remembers the vision of his future. His older self had had a prosthetic, but he’d never thought, never imagined…

_Never thought it would happen so soon._

Katsuki stares blankly at the metal contraption that’s taken the place of his lower left leg and foot. Striker drops to the ground as he swings his legs out of bed, setting down his flesh-and-blood first before slowly, carefully, placing down the metal one.

It strikes him then just how much he’s taken his limbs, his life, all of the fucking things he has for granted, and he shudders, bringing up a hand to wipe roughly at his eyes. Striker sniffs at the metal leg---his metal leg---before raising her shining eyes to his. And, as always, he can read her like a book.

And she looks at him no differently. If anything, there is more of that undeserved unconditional love in her eyes, which fucking tears at his heart worse than knives.

Katsuki rises slowly to his feet, testing his weight on his newly replaced left leg. It gives way similarly to how muscle would, and he wonders if maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll be able to run and walk without a limp. Mei’s a gods-damned genius, after all, and he has no doubt that she’ll have done anything and everything to get him back up in the air.

That doesn’t make it any easier when he falls on his first step, just like a fucking child. Striker catches him just before he hits the ground, warm scales and hard muscle supporting him as she raises her head, taking him with it. He turns, slowly, painfully, and loops an arm over her neck as he limps along, supported by his best friend. “Thanks, girl,” he murmurs, and she croons as they make their way towards the ground floor entrance.

The dorms are utterly empty, but he doesn’t need anyone there to point out what he already knows---that Fate, as if sensing the soul that matches his own, has decided to make them even more similar. Dragon and human, each powerful without the other, but unstoppable when they are as one.

 _And we are,_ he thinks, leaning forward to push open the door, _as one._

A Grapple Grounder streaks past with a roar, and Katsuki, unnerved, slams the door shut. “Striker,” he warns his Night Fury, “stay here.”

He pushes the door open again. Kirishima hovers just outside on dragonback, Catalyst’s wings beating wildly as he shouts to the others: “C’mon guys, get ready! Hold on tight, here we go!”

And then he shoots past, leading a group of 1-A students that were definitely not in their combat group, but are somehow riding dragons...with Kirishima teaching them? Katsuki mentally runs through how many ways that could possibly go wrong, but grins out of amazement and amusement when Yaoyorozu darts past on a Hobblegrunt, followed by Kaminari on a fucking Skrill (one of the only ones they’d ever found) and Jirou on a Thunderdrum.

They aren’t the only ones who have changed, he realizes, gazing out over the village. Heroes and civilians alike are taking off on dragons, the giant braziers that once were flaming death-torches now filled with fish for dragons to eat. A flock of Nadders is perched on a rooftop, while a Rumblehorn lumbers past, nudging at Kouda as the normally quiet boy chatters excitedly with the beasts.

It’s like the dream-Berk he saw---the world seems more colorful, dragons flying everywhere and making friends with the humans. It’s so beautiful that it can’t possibly be real.

“I knew it,” he says after a moment, staring out over the village and watching as his mother---his _mother!---_ swoops down on a Monstrous Nightmare, dismounting the green-blue Stoker-class and looping an arm around him with a laugh. "I'm dead."

“No, but you gave it your best shot. Scared us all outta our fucking minds, too.” Katsuki gapes as All Might---no, it’s not All Might, he’s too skeletal (but goddamn does he look similar) lands a Timberjack, giving the dragon a friendly rub as he dismounts as well, and his mother snickers. “So? Whaddya think, runt?”

Cue several of his classmates and lower-ranked heroes looking up and noticing him. “It’s Bakugou!” one of them---he thinks his name is Ojiro or something---shouts, and the others chime in with greetings and exclamations of delight as they crowd around his. Katsuki blinks, silenced by awe as he gazes around at a dream come true.

“Turns out all we needed was a little more of this,” Not-All-Might’s voice rumbles, and fiery blue eyes burn with almost parental pride. Katsuki realizes that his eyes are exactly the same as All Might’s, meaning that he has to be his teacher. Guilt ripples within him, but he pushes it aside for a moment.

“You just gestured to all of me,” he manages, unable to say anything more.

“Not all of you!” a voice, sharp and eager, reminds them, and Mei pushes through the crowd. “That bit’s my handiwork---one of your ancestor’s notebooks had the schematics in it, though. Think it’ll work?”

Katsuki examines it with a critical eye. For the first time, he accepts this leg as part of him, noting that, like him, it has flaws and room for improvement. “I might make a few damn tweaks,” he shrugs, and the others laugh.

Someone else shoves through the crowd, and he knows who it is as soon as her fist lands in his ribcage. He bites back a growl of pain, because fucking hell, she’s even stronger than he remembered. “That’s for scaring me,” Ochako snaps, and he stares at her in askance.

“Wha---fucking hell, is it always going to be this way? I--”

And she pulls him in and kisses him soundly on the lips, effectively shutting him up. He can feel his face go bright fucking red, but he doesn’t really care. “I could get used to it,” he admits, and she smiles.

His mother taps him on the shoulder and he turns to look at her. She holds out silver-gray fabric wrapped in brown leather, and he catches it, grinning as he recognizes the newly crafted tailfin and saddle. “Welcome home, Katsuki,” she whispers, giving him the first real hug he can remember actually fucking accepting from her since he was five.

The door rattles behind them and someone lets out a yelp of “Night Fury!” as Striker bursts through the door, clambering over heroes and civilians and jumping off of their backs as she bounds up to him, ready to fly.

Mere moments later, she’s saddled, silvery tailfin and black scales glistening with a liquid brilliance in the sunlight. He swings himself back up onto her back, his prosthetic clicking into place perfectly as he shifts her tail. He glances up at Ochako (Mei’s already vanished, shouting something about waiting for them in the harbor while he tacked Striker up) and Aether, both of whom grin at him as he rests a hand on his Night Fury’s head. “You ready?” he asks, and she makes a noise of impatience, snapping her jaw with a wolfish grin.

_This is Berk._

He watches hesitant civilians take off on gentle Gronckles and Rumblehorns, only to discover that flying is the greatest freedom the world can offer.

_It snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three._

He tenses as he and his dragon shoot upward, Ochako following barely a wingbeat behind and swiftly overtaking him. He grins as they dive over the streets, whooping and cheering and daring each other to complete difficult maneuvers as they race.

_Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless. The people that grow here are even more so._

They streak through a tunnel and come out over the harbor, Mei joining in their game as they fly at speeds that create their own wind currents, their own paths.

_The only upsides are the pets._

They shoot over a narrow wooden bridge, Kirishima and Tokoyami both diving off of the platforms as they soar upwards, flying through a narrow passageway and looping up towards the sky.

_While other places have ponies, or parrots…_

Deku swoops up to join them, along with Todoroki, the two joining the edges of their unintentional “V” formation---a group of the village’s best and brightest, the Dragon Riders.

_We have…_

Katsuki whoops as he and Striker shoot towards the sun, piercing the clouds as Striker unleashes a roar. The world is wide open to them, thousands of worlds they’ve never even imagined now accessible. The future will be hard, the past untouchable, but right now, Katsuki and Striker reach for the sky as one.

_Dragons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the saga of Katsuki and Striker draws to a close, with a world of endless possibilities and discoveries finally available to them. On that note, be prepared for a book detailing the further adventures of the seven Dragon Riders!


End file.
